Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I want more of these moments.
In such a short time, I want to know the man sitting across from me.
I want him to know me.
There is something about him that has captured my soul.
I have a feeling this will either go very well, or very wrong.
It could go either way.
I just have to keep my fingers crossed it goes the way I want.
Because Colt is a man you don’t forget.
4
Flicking through some old papers that belonged to Aunt Chloe, I stumble across a picture. It has been printed out, but I can’t take my eyes off it. There, in front of me, is a picture of Colt and Chloe outside of what looks to be a beach café. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and they’re standing in the sand, his arm around her shoulder, her smile lighting up the photograph.
It's so strange to see him like this. So ... happy.
There is something about the way his body is relaxed, his mouth turned up in a half grin, his eyes bright and carefree. She made him happy. That much is abundantly clear. I get it, of course. Chloe ... She knew how to make everyone she met happy. Not only was she witty and funny, but she had a brightness about her that made you want to spend every waking hour in her presence.
A sting of something burns from deep within. It’s not jealousy, but perhaps it is envy that she could take a man like Colt and make him look like that. I don’t have someone like that in my life, and maybe it’s because I don’t carry the same radiance she did. Obviously, that is the case, because the man hates me. I haven’t decided if he hates me because I’m Chloe’s niece or if he just hates me because he can.
“You need to keep it down.”
Turning at the sudden lack of blaring music in the background, I see Colt standing, shirtless, with his finger on the power button of my Bluetooth speaker. I’m getting more than a little tired of him coming in here and thinking he gets to tell me what to do. He’s wrong, and I’m going make sure that my time here isn’t easy on him, especially considering he’s making sure I don’t enjoy it.
My eyes roam over his naked chest, over the intricate ink and the lean, strong muscles on his chest and abdomen – then there is that coin he always has hanging around his neck that makes him look even more dangerous. He’s gorgeous, in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, even if you don’t want it to. He’s the kind of beautiful that I find very hard to look away from. Especially when he’s standing in front of me, dirty jeans slung low on his hips, his long hair out and falling over his shoulders, his face covered with smudges of dirt and grease.
He’s been working in the garage.
“Do you mind not touching my things, Uncle?” I say, crossing my arms, mostly to hide the fact that I’m in a bikini with a pair of tiny shorts on.
I started a fire about half an hour ago to burn some old things from the barn that I don’t want to take up space by keeping in here. Old papers, small bits of broken timber or furniture. I’ve been slowly feeding the fire as I work, and it has continued sizzling away, just waiting for the next thing to be thrown in. I got hot very quickly, so this made the most sense.
“I fuckin’ dare you to say that to me one more time.”
The last time he said that I pushed my luck, and he threw me over his shoulder and carried me inside. Then, he tossed me down onto the bed and leaned over me, his big body flat against mine as he threatened to do awful things if I said it again. I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe with him on top of me like that.
“Yes, I remember,” I mumble, waving a hand. “You’ll make me wish I was never born blah, blah, blah. Here, you might want this.”
I thrust the photograph at him, and he takes it, staring down. I focus on his expression, trying to figure out exactly how he feels about seeing it. He keeps his face stony, but I don’t miss how the hand by his side clenches. He turns, without a word, and walks toward the fire, scrunching the photo into a ball and tossing it in.
“Hey!” I say, rushing out after him, but it’s too late, the flames have already engulfed the small piece of paper. “I would have kept that.”
“Anything that I’m in, you burn.”
His voice is low and gruff, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was laced with a little pain.