Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
But then she pulls back, her eyes wide and searching. “What are we doing?” she asks, her voice shaky.
I run a hand through my hair, stepping back to give her space. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice gruff. “But I know one thing, Amelia, I want you. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out, like she’s not sure if she should run or stay. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
And then the hum of the garage fades to sudden silence as everything plunges into darkness.
Chapter Nine
Amelia
"Power’s out." Fox’s grumble echoes from somewhere near the workbench.
I blink, adjusting to the sudden loss of light, and mutter, "Well, that’s just perfect."
Fox’s flashlight app flickers to life, casting a small, shaky beam across the cluttered garage.
"So…what now? Do we just sit here in the dark and wait?"
"Well, Princess, would’ve been easier if someone remembered to buy batteries for the flashlights," he mutters, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
I whirl in the direction of his phone light, narrowing my eyes even though he probably can’t see it. "Oh, so this is my fault now? Maybe if you wouldn’t have been distracted with the boys–”
Fox’s low chuckle cuts me off, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"
"Not when I’m right," I fire back, feeling a ridiculous sense of satisfaction at the huff of frustration he lets out.
“Follow me, and hold on tight.” He grunts, his hand catching mine before guiding me up the stairs to the loft in slow, measured steps. When we reach the top, he swings the door open and ushers me in tenderly. "Stay put," he orders, the sound of his boots crunching against the floor as he moves around the loft. A moment later, he’s back, tossing something heavy over my shoulders. "Here. Don’t want you whining about freezing to death."
It’s a blanket—soft, surprisingly warm, and it smells like him: a mix of motor oil, cedar, and something undeniably masculine. My sarcasm falters as his fingers brush mine, lingering just a second too long. The air between us shifts, growing thick with an unspoken tension that makes it hard to breathe.
"Thanks," I mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
Fox lights a candle and then leans against the kitchen workbench, the faint glow casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes glint in the dim light, unreadable but intense, and I realize I’m staring. Again.
"Take a picture, Princess," he drawls, his voice low and teasing. "It’ll last longer."
I scoff, even as heat rises to my cheeks. "Don’t flatter yourself."
"Too late," he shoots back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You’ve been checking me out since you got here."
I gape at him, words catching in my throat. He’s not wrong, but admitting it is out of the question. Instead, I deflect. "Maybe I’m just fascinated by how grumpy one person can be. It’s like an art form with you."
Fox’s laugh is a low rumble, and the sound wraps around me like the blanket. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Good," I reply, stepping closer, emboldened by the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The tension stretches taut, electric, until it snaps. I don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s me, maybe it’s him—but suddenly his lips are on mine, and the world tilts sideways.
Kissing Fox is like stepping too close to a fire: dangerous, consuming, and impossible to resist. His hands cup my face, calloused but gentle, as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
"Amelia," he murmurs against my lips, my name a low growl that sends a thrill straight through me.
"Shut up," I whisper back, fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.
He laughs, the sound vibrating against my mouth, and then his hands are sliding down, wrapping around my waist and lifting me onto the workbench like I weigh nothing. The blanket slips off my shoulders, forgotten, as his fingers tangle in my hair.
"You’re trouble," he mutters, his forehead resting against mine.
"You love it," I counter, breathless.
His gaze darkens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to argue. Instead, he kisses me again, harder this time, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid I might disappear. The rough edge of his desire matches my own, and I lose myself in the heat of it.
The world narrows to the two of us—the scrape of his stubble against my skin, the taste of him on my lips, the way his body feels pressed against mine. It’s overwhelming and addictive, and I don’t want it to stop.
But then it does. Fox pulls back, his breathing ragged, and his hands drop to his sides as if he’s forcing himself to let go.