Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
There’s something hollow in her eyes now, like the shimmering happiness before has dried up into a desert. I hate to see it.
Vulnerability, that’s what this is.
Every time she mentions her old man, it’s like she loses another spark of life.
She stops in front of me and we lock eyes.
“Look, I know you don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either under the circumstances,” she whispers. Her little nails trail up her arms, tracing white lines across her skin. “And I get it, I really do. But this is—this is about the bees.” She waves a hand toward the gardens. “This place is everything I need right now, and I think the bees might need me, too.”
Fuck.
Here comes the guilt trip, speeding toward me like a train loaded with dynamite, and the worst part is I get it.
I really do.
She needs to feel like she has a purpose, some higher calling, something that needs her just as much as she needs it. Hell, I’ve been there plenty of times.
Colt and the business give me easy closure there.
I don’t think about it often, but when my old man died when I was young, I had the same crisis. The whole family spiraled. Three young men who had to grow up mighty fast while Mom confronted her demons at the bottom of a wine bottle.
It’s why I joined the army. I needed to feel like I was doing something worthwhile, helping make the world safer and stable when I needed order the most in my life.
And fuck, as I stare down at her, the way she tugs at the knot holding her blouse together, I know exactly what I’m about to say.
“How long do you need?”
“A month tops. The money’s no issue, I promise—”
“I’ll clear the schedule for this property. You can have your month here with the bees.”
Her mouth drops and her eyes widen. I’m half convinced she’s about to hit the floor until she does something worse.
She hugs me.
Not just a little hug, no, not like the ones I get from Junie and Salem when my sisters-in-law come over. Polite little hugs done more from friendly habit.
This is different.
A second later, I’m buried in lush, sweet-smelling woman, rapidly losing every damn bit of my mind.
She’s soft and she’s warm and her arms are around my neck. Her ear feels cold against my cheek and her hair falls all over my face.
Yes, she smells fucking incredible up close.
Not just the perfume from earlier, but—the honey?
Shit.
Before I can even think, I wrap my arms around her tight.
Her hair feels like spun silk. There’s no helping the way I caress it, stroking the curls, threading them through my fingers while I breathe her in greedily.
She softens, sinking into me, her breath so hot against my neck.
Fuck me, I hold on tighter.
“Thank you. Thank you, Archer!” Her voice cracks. “This means so much to me, you don’t even know.”
True.
Right now, I only know one thing—it’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms when this little troublemaker feels this good.
She’s a total stranger. A client.
I’ve made a business arrangement with her, and now she’s—
She’s burying her face in my neck like I’ve just saved her life. Clinging to me like I’ve rescued her from drowning or burning alive.
But I haven’t, I just agreed to take her money like any other paying guest.
I promised her shelter from the storm in the most miserly, selfish way possible.
Every instinct I have howls at me to keep her where she is, but the thought that I haven’t done anything to deserve her gratitude feels shit enough that I ease her back, my hands on her waist.
Her eyelashes are damp as she looks up at me, curiosity sparking in her eyes. It reminds me of the night sky captured in emerald. Her lips part on another breath too much like a low moan, and dammit, I’m still holding her waist.
She’s so deliriously soft in my hands, so close.
If I just lean down and claim her bottom lip with my teeth, I’ll see how she sounds when she—
The door opens and Colt bounds back in.
“You guys, it’s so purple! Like a blueberry smoothie but brighter,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it, not seeming to notice the fact that I was about two seconds away from breaking every rule about professional relationships.
But he notices a second later and stops mid-step, staring at us like he has to rub his eyes to believe them.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I let Winnie go and she stumbles back, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are redder than a fire truck.
Though her eyes are still bright with fresh tears, there’s no mistaking it when she looks at Colt. She’s still wearing the same confused, happy smile she had before.