Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
My reflexes are lightning quick—ask anyone in the professional hockey league—and my hands shoot out to grasp the sides of her neck. My thumbs under her jaw, I draw her into me and I’m strangely satisfied when I see her eyes flare wide with both fear and excitement.
I pull her right up so our noses are almost touching. Tipping my head to the side, I hover so our lips are almost touching.
Her breath wafts out and feathers over my mouth before it hitches back in again.
“Tilden?” I whisper and marvel at the way her eyes go half-mast. Christ… is she turned on?
My dick twitches. Something is happening here.
“Yes?” she murmurs, as if caught in a spell.
I lean in, touch my lips to hers with no more force than if it were a butterfly landing on her lush mouth. A stuttering breath escapes her, and it’s sexy as fuck. It certainly makes it hard not to crush my mouth against hers, but I hold strong.
“You’ve got the day to get my yard cleaned up, or I’m calling the police.”
Realization that I’m not kissing but threatening her hits, and those hands are back at my chest, this time pushing me hard.
I’m ready for it, and I don’t move.
Not for several seconds, anyway. I hold her in place, our lips still fluttering against each other’s before I drop my hands.
I step back, smile, and give her a tiny salute because I’ve taken back control of this game.
“End of day,” I remind her. “But if you choose not to, I’ll be here watching them arrest you. I bet you look good in cuffs.”
Yeah, that last line might have been laced with innuendo, but I’m also dead serious. She better stop fucking with me because while she thinks I’m an asshole now, she hasn’t seen anything yet.
And yet, as I walk away, I realize it’s not sitting right with me. Not the threats to call the police—I stand by those, as I want my yard cleaned up. But I’ve learned a bit about Tilden Marshall. She’s devious and stubborn, and she won’t willingly do it. I need the leverage of criminal prosecution to ensure her compliance.
But that kiss doesn’t sit right with me.
It takes a lot to catch me off guard. It takes even more to surprise me. But the fact that she grabbed me…
She kissed me first.
She made a bold-as-fuck move, and it has me wondering… has me curious about the type of woman who would have that much confidence in herself.
That my body reacted to her is puzzling, as she’s not generally my type. Supermodel-like women in skimpy clothes are more my speed.
Add on that she irritates the living fuck out of me, and it makes her an even greater curiosity.
I guess what bothers me most is how hard it was not to kiss her back. That I actually struggled with giving up my leverage and threats just to see what she really tasted like.
This scares me. It’s the first time I’ve seen a glimpse of the old Coen Highsmith. The man who existed prior to the crash.
He’s the one who would have laughed at a woman who turned his backyard into a wildlife refuge and hung neon bird feeders in his trees.
The man I once was would have kissed the fuck out of her, and if she’d been willing, would have carried her off to bed right then and there.
As I walk back toward the copse of trees that separates my property from hers, the reality that I’m still struggling not to turn around is what bothers me most of all.
CHAPTER 7
Coen
After my confrontation with Tilden this morning, I changed into running gear and hit the trails. Now that I know how her property sits adjacent to mine, I suppose it’s possible these trails cross back and forth over our land.
When I returned home, sweaty and out of breath, I was disappointed not to see her in my yard, cleaning up. Part of me wants another confrontation, and admittedly, a part of me wants her to do it so I don’t have to call the police.
Not that I really have proof that she did it, but we both know she did.
After a shower, I rummage through my refrigerator for lunch but find only a pack of deli chicken, two apples, and a dozen or so protein drinks.
I’m starved, and I don’t feel like a grocery run just to get some lunch. I know there are a handful of restaurants in downtown Coudersport, more than a few with the words bar and grill tacked on the end.
While I can’t hide forever, I’ll try to stay anonymous as long as I can. Not everyone would recognize me—clearly Tilden doesn’t—but there will be some who do, and then it will spread around town. I want to avoid that for as long as I can so I don’t have to talk about hockey or my career.