Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
She didn’t say that, though. She wasn’t an idiot.
Also, she really wanted to know how exactly she was going to pay the piper.
“Have you got something for me to put the eggs in?” he asked.
“Yep. Here.” She searched through a cupboard and pulled out a pink basket with white daisies around it.
“Is this another joke?”
“Nope, it isn’t. Loki has tried using other baskets, but the she-demons didn’t like it. They only like this one.”
“You are aware they’re just chickens.”
“Shh.” She glanced around warily. “You can’t call them chickens.”
He looked heavenward.
“Are you praying for patience?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I get it. Those she-demons are a lot to deal with.”
“Yes. It’s the chickens trying my patience.”
Wasn’t that just what she’d said? She had no idea why he was repeating it. But perhaps he was stressed.
“It’s not every day you risk your life to get eggs,” she muttered.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not risking my life. They’re chickens. Nothing more.”
Poor, deluded Remy.
He’d soon find out.
“You stay in here,” he commanded as he grabbed his boots and jacket.
She would have argued, but she didn’t want the chickens to see her. They only really liked Loki.
He walked out onto the back deck. She peered out the window to see him putting on his boots. Then he headed back behind the trees.
Shoot. She couldn’t hear a thing.
Moving out onto the back deck, she shivered slightly in the cool morning air. Funny how she hadn’t even noticed how cold it was earlier when she’d been dressed in nothing but a lace nightie.
There was silence. Maybe the she-demons would be all right with him? Perhaps they liked men. It could be her. Was she the problem?
And then the squawking started.
And the swearing.
Oh Lord.
Those were some good swear words. She’d have to remember them.
She felt like she’d just sent Remy off to get slaughtered. Well, she had warned him.
She half-expected him to come racing back around the trees and yell at her. Not that she’d blame him.
But the squawking continued and then silence.
Oh God! Had they killed him? What was she going to do?
Then he reappeared. He looked . . . all right. Well, his hair was ruffled and that might be a scratch on his hand.
But otherwise, he was unharmed.
And miracle of miracles! There were eggs in his basket.
“You got the eggs!” She jumped up and down, clapping her hands.
“Of course I did.”
He spoke like he’d never had any doubts. He’d probably never had a moment of doubt in his life.
Remy frowned as he stared at her. What was it? Did she have her clothes on backward? Stuff on her face? But no . . . his gaze was on her feet.
“Where the hell are your shoes?” he snapped.
“What?”
“Shoes, Princess. As in, you’re not wearing any.”
“So?” She glanced down at her feet. Now that he’d mentioned it, they were feeling a bit cold.
He grumbled something quietly and then climbed onto the deck to hand her the basket of eggs.
There were heaps in there. Yay!
“Hold the basket,” he said.
She was, wasn’t she?
Then suddenly, he lifted her, holding her on his hip as he carried her inside.
“What . . . what are you doing?” she asked as he closed the door.
“You shouldn’t be walking outside in bare feet. Again. Did you hurt them earlier?” he demanded. “I should have checked, but I got distracted.”
“She-demon chickens will do that. But no. They’re fine. My feet are tough, just like me.”
He raised his eyebrows, looking like he didn’t believe her.
Rude.
Remy carried her over to the kitchen island and sat her on top of it. Then he grasped hold of one foot, holding it up.
“Hey!” She hastily put the basket of eggs down as she nearly went flying backward.
Save the eggs!
He ran his finger over her foot, pressing down.
She groaned. She couldn’t help it. That felt like heaven.
“Your feet are freezing,” he grumbled as he did the same to the other one. “And there’s a scratch on this one.”
There was? She hadn’t even noticed.
“I’ll get the First-Aid kit.”
For a scratch? This guy was OTT.
And she wondered how she could get him to give her a foot massage with those big hands of his.
Stop, Isa!
She was out of control.
He returned with the First-Aid kit and cleaned the scratch, which must have been from her mad dash out the door earlier. Then he put a Band-Aid over it. That was when she noticed a nasty scratch on his hand.
“How did you do this?” she asked, grabbing his hand. Damn, they were big. And powerful.
“Chicken.”
She winced. Probably Jennifer. She was the worst.
“Here, give me the stuff. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s fine,” he replied.
“So I need a Band-Aid for the world’s tiniest cut, but you get to just tough it out?”
“Yep.”
“The tough guy act isn’t sexy,” she told him.
She lied. It was. All of him was sexy.
He placed his hands on the counter on either side of her hips.