Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
He made a huffing sound before giving up trying to be indignant and letting his laughter appear. The man had a damned dimple in his cheek when he laughed, and I ached to press my lips against it. I could feel the phantom stubble against the tender skin of my lips in my mind’s eye.
“Jerk,” he said with a grin. “I was the lead personal security specialist on her close-protection team.”
I ran my palms down the tops of my legs. “Yeah, I may or may not have googled you and seen the media fireworks from that little episode. Sounds like the woman had it coming to her.”
“Whether she did or not is immaterial. I should never have lost my cool on a job.”
Saint’s eyes remained focused on the road, but his smile was gone. I reached over and clasped his hand. “Maybe not, but it’s nice to know you’re not perfect.”
He picked up our joined hands and brought them to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across my knuckles before resting our hands back down on his muscled thigh. The heat of his body permeated his dark jeans, which only made me want to crawl over the center console and curl up in his lap like a kitten.
“What about you?” he murmured. “Tell me about opening the shop.”
We spent the rest of the drive talking back and forth about how we’d gotten to where we were today. Both of our stories had been shaped by strong family influences. It had taken the death of my great-aunt and strong encouragement from my sister to leave the auction house where I’d worked in the city and open my own shop, but I told Saint how I already knew in less than a year it was exactly what I was supposed to be doing. And Hobie was exactly where I was supposed to be doing it.
He told me about his shockingly large family. He was the fourth-oldest of ten children, and was especially close to Otto, who’d been born less than a year after Saint and MJ. As he described what it was like growing up basically in chaos, I was struck by just how very differently we’d been raised.
Saint’s family had been loud and fun, scrappy and messy. Mine had been elegant and staid, like a delicate flute of Cristal compared to Saint’s cardboard carton of chocolate milk.
I’d always craved chocolate milk.
I must have gone off in my head at some point because suddenly the hand I’d been holding was brushing through my hair.
“Augie? Did I lose you?”
His voice was almost as low and soothing as the steady sound of the truck’s tires on the highway. The darkness had lulled me into a semi-stupor. There was soft classic country music playing in the background.
“Hm? I think maybe I blinked offline for a minute,” I admitted. “Sorry.”
His fingers in my hair comforted me. If I hadn’t recognized the turnoff to my county lane, I’d have been tempted to let him soothe me right back into a daze.
When we entered the farmhouse, I noticed him looking around at the newly clean space and was doubly grateful Kat and Rory had helped me put the place back to rights while they were in town.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked, trying desperately to ignore the nervous rolling of my stomach.
“Sure. I’ll take a beer if you have it.”
“Of course.” I tried to calm my breathing for a brief moment as I headed toward the kitchen. After grabbing two bottles out of the fridge, I found a jar of mixed nuts in the pantry and brought everything to the family room off the kitchen area.
Saint took a seat on the sofa, and I set the items on the coffee table in front of him before freezing up. Where the hell did I sit? If I sat next to him on the small sofa, would he think I was desperate? If I sat on the chair next to the sofa, would he think I wasn’t interested?
Before I had a chance to decide, he sighed and muttered, “C’mere,” before yanking me down onto his lap and grabbing my face for a kiss.
“Stop fucking thinking,” he mumbled against my lips. “It’s exhausting just watching you struggle with yourself.”
I wanted to get defensive—to tell him it wasn’t easy to come to terms with the fact I was selfishly putting him in a horrible position with his work. But I was too busy falling into a deep pool of desire where every nerve ending in my body seemed to be alight with shimmering pleasure and all I wanted was more.
“Mm-hmm,” I managed to say into his mouth. It was the closest I could come to “Okay, yes, less thinking and more kissing. Soooo much more kissing.”
I felt his smile against my lips as his large fingers cupped my face. “You taste so fucking sweet,” he whispered, almost to himself.