Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
I just need to find a way to control myself when I’m around him …
8
FORD
I whistle as I get out of Hangman’s old truck. All I have here is my bike. I honestly wasn’t planning on staying long. Meeting Grace has changed that. Still, I know that I have to return home soon. My time here is limited. I don’t want to leave Grace, however. I want to bring her back home with me. I don’t think that’s something she’s going to agree to easily. She will definitely fight it with everything in her. The road ahead of me is too fucking long and complicated. There’s just something inside of me that tells me Grace is more than worth it. I wanted her before. After speaking with Detective Garcia, I knew I wanted to help and protect her. Yet, since that damn kiss in the diner, I’m completely in. Kissing Grace was like holding fire and power in the palm of my hand. I’ve never felt that before in my life. She’s my woman.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I walk to the gate of the old, chain-link fence, closing it back behind me, before going to the front door, pizza in hand. It’s not a bad-looking house. It’s small, but the street it’s on seems to be a good one. There are a few toys in the yard and some Adirondack chairs in the yard beside the sidewalk. In my mind, I can see Grace sitting in the chair, relaxed while watching her son play. I smile as the image hits me. It makes me want things I didn’t expect. Things I’d given up on over the years.
When I get to the front door, I knock while wondering if she will even answer. The woman is stubborn. I could see her refusing to answer while waiting for me to leave. The thought makes me smile. Grace doesn’t know me yet, but she’ll soon find out that I’m just as stubborn—more so, because I’m not going to let her slip through my fingers.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take that long before she opens the door. I look at her with a smile on my face, holding up the flat white box in my hand. “Pizza delivery,” I joke.
She looks at me warily. I can see the trepidation in her beautiful green eyes. Her dark auburn hair is down, the wavy tresses caressing her shoulders. My fingers itch with the need to curl into them and see exactly how soft they are. Everything about this woman speaks to me. I want her. Right now, I want her more than my next breath.
“I could pay you for the pizza and you could leave it and go home,” she suggests.
“You don’t want that, Gracie,” I murmur, using her nickname everyone uses for the first time. If I wasn’t watching her so closely, I would have missed the look of shock on her face that flashes for a brief moment. I hear the quick intake of breath, and it makes me wonder if she wants me as much as I want her. Fuck, at my age, that shouldn’t fill me with excitement like some damn teenage boy looking to get his first taste of a woman. It does, though. Hell, everything about her gives me that feeling.
“I’m pretty sure I do,” she counters once she finds her voice.
I know I’m pushing it, but I can’t seem to resist. I let her take the box from my hands, then I step to the side, just enough to get closer to her without the pizza being in the way. I lean down to whisper into her ear. “Keep challenging me, sweetheart, and I promise you I will show you exactly what you’d like from me.” With our bodies close together, I feel the tremble that moves through her body. The look in her eyes tells me it’s not fear she’s feeling, either. Grace wants me—even if she wishes she didn’t.
“Mommy! The movie is on!”
I step back and look down to see this little boy with dark auburn hair a lot like Grace’s.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Grace says, squatting down so that she’s eye level with her son. “Mommy has a friend that’s going to join us tonight. Is that okay?” She reaches out and tucks some of the unruly mass of hair behind his ear. Something about that and seeing how tender her face is as she gazes at her son wraps around me with an invisible force. Lyla’s mother never cared about our daughter. I don’t think the woman ever had any type of softness or tenderness in her. Grace is her exact opposite, and that’s a very good thing.
“Are you my mommy’s friend?” he asks innocently, looking up at me.
“Ash—”
I go down, mimicking Grace’s position. “I am,” I interrupt. “I’m Ford.”