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)
I hold in a sigh.
Even if I’m currently being tortured by one of the sexiest women alive in my master bedroom wearing a towel and nothing else, I know this was the right decision, getting her out of there.
My bathroom has the best shower in the house with steam and dual rainfall heads. After the shit Holden pulled, she deserved max comfort when she said she wanted to clean up.
She’s so delicate, so fragile, so beautiful inside and out despite her obnoxious singing. I want her to feel safe, dammit.
Then she presses her hand to the towel’s knot under her arm and blushes something fierce.
“Oh my God,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. You… you didn’t have to let me use your shower.”
“I insisted. Rainfall makes anyone feel better. Tell me it didn’t.”
She tries to hide her grin but can’t.
“Sorry,” she just whispers again.
“Keep apologizing and I’ll have to give you something to apologize for.” Bad idea. I can’t just say that. I can’t just do that. Even if the only thing I want to do is march over, rip off that towel, and pin her to this bed until she’s fucked senseless.
Her eyes widen and she sucks in a breath, her neck bones standing out in sharp relief, glistening with water beads.
She missed a spot when she dried herself.
Holy fuck, I didn’t know it was possible to be this aroused.
“You can have the guest room. I put your stuff in there,” I say, trying to force this conversation back to safety.
“Okay, sure. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble.” Total lie, but if she apologizes one more time, I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. “This is about the safest place you can get. No one’s getting in here without permission. That’s why I have a gate.”
“Only if you’re sure.” She sucks in another breath, but this one sounds different. “Thank you, Archer. I appreciate it.”
“And if you want to see the bees and work with them, all you have to do is say the word. I’ll take you over there. We’ll both go. If Holden comes back, I’ll send him away on a stretcher.”
She laughs roughly, like she’s a few seconds away from tears. “You almost did that this time.”
“I gave him a warning.”
“Hopefully he listens. Just don’t get yourself in real trouble. He’s not worth it,” she says, and this time her laugh is a little stronger.
She smiles at me, and I return it.
The moment lingers, heavy and potent in the air. The longer I hold her gaze, the darker it gets. She wets her lips and I track the movement.
Goddamn.
I don’t think she knows how sexy she is, how much I want her.
Raging need pounds through my veins. I subtly fist the duvet to keep my hands from being too tempted to touch her.
Touching her is absolutely the only thing on my mind right now.
It fucking dominates my senses, this demanding itch I can’t ignore—especially with the hooded looks she gives me now.
If I storm over and seize her lips, she’ll melt like butter.
She won’t deny me for a second.
She kissed me back at the cabin. Hard, too.
Her mouth was as needy as mine, starved for attention. And she pulled me closer, tangling her tongue with mine like she’s been lost in the desert, dying of thirst.
When I think of her fuckface ex, I get it.
I also get angry.
She’s never had a real man in her life, and this woman desperately deserves one like a blooming cactus deserves rain.
Holy fucking shit, having her here was an epic mistake.
If I can’t stand five minutes of this without my brain going sappy and poetic, how will we survive days together? Possibly weeks?
If she’s in my house, the only thing I’m going to be thinking about is tasting Winnie, making her moan, discovering that beautiful body inch by inch, pushing her up against the wall and wrapping her legs around me and thieving her voice until she’s hoarse from coming.
Winnie clears her throat loudly, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
“So what do we do about Colt?” Her question throws a metaphorical bucket of cold water on my head.
Yeah, that.
There’s nothing like thinking about how you’ll explain this to your brilliant, insanely curious son without sounding like an animal who just wants to get his dick wet.
“Leave him to me. Don’t worry,” I growl.
Good advice I wish I could take.
I’m already very fucking worried.
The next day, I shut myself away and mostly succeed at losing myself in work.
So effectively that by the time I resurface, my stomach keeps growling like a bear.
Fine.
Probably dinnertime, which also means time to figure out what’s happening with Winnie.
My back aches as I stand up from the chair, launching into a long stretch.
Mom claims forty is young, but it’s rapidly approaching like a boulder heading straight for me, and I can feel the pain.