I Wish You Were Mine (Harbor Village #2) Read Online Jessica Peterson

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Harbor Village Series by Jessica Peterson
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
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“You don’t have to clean up after us.” I set my plate on the counter beside Maren’s. Both are empty. “I’ll get the dishes after Katie goes to bed.”

But Maren keeps scrubbing. “You cooked, I clean. Y’all go enjoy bath time. That is one stinky koala bear.”

Katie laughs. “I’m not stinky!”

“Did you smell your piggies?”

“What are piggies?” I ask.

Katie sticks out her foot. “It’s what Mare calls my toes.”

I chuckle. “Cute.”

Katie bends down to smell her foot. “Ew, that is stinky.”

“Told you!” Maren teases.

Can’t help it. Now I’m full-on laughing too.

Goddamn it, I don’t want to laugh. I definitely don’t want it to feel this good, all of us crowded by the sink. Bellies full, bedtime imminent.

I love this time of day.

I love it more with Maren here. And that’s a problem, because I can’t afford the distraction.

To be fair, this is day one. Maybe I’m feeling a spark because it’s all so new. Excitement working its way through my system. Chances are, it’ll wear off as time goes by.

I hope to God it wears off.

I toss my daughter over my shoulder, making her laugh when I smell her feet and pretend to gag. “Maren, I got it from here. Bath and bedtime are usually mine anyway, so.”

“You sure? I’m happy to help.”

“Positive. That way you can study. Hopefully get some sleep.”

Maren scrunches her forehead. She catches it before I do—the fact that I paid close enough attention to her to notice just how exhausted she is. “Oh. Wow. Okay, thank you. Seriously, that means a lot.”

My face burns. “Leave the dishes.”

But I’m quickly learning that Maren does what she wants. She stays at the sink, the rack in the dishwasher rattling as she loads it.

Just before I head downstairs to Katie’s bathroom, I hear Maren singing along softly to the song that’s playing.

I’ve recently caught my dad singing along to the radio on his boat. “What?” he said when I’d teased him about it. “People sing along to the radio when they’re happy. Or getting laid.”

I’m glad Maren’s happy.

I’m not at all glad I feel a surge of curiosity—of jealousy—when my mind immediately latches onto the idea that Maren is getting laid. By who? She doing splits for him?

Christ, I need to stop thinking about such ridiculous shit.

I’m Maren’s boss. She’s my nanny. The boundaries are clear.

Katie loops her hands around my neck when I pull her to my front, and then she rests her head on my shoulder. She’s so damn sweet when she’s sleepy.

This. This right here is why I have to keep those boundaries clear.

Katie is my girl. I don’t need any others. Which means I need to keep my guard up and my head down.

four

. . .

Maren

Ray of Fucking Sunshine

After the kitchen is clean, I head downstairs to change the laundry.

Today was a good day—a great day, actually—which was just topped off by a great meal. Tuck is one hell of a cook. Katie is an absolute love bug. It’s only my first day, but I already have a gut feeling I’m going to enjoy this job.

Now it’s time to finish my paper and study for an upcoming exam, but my legs feel like lead weights as I climb the steps to my apartment. Compared to the chaos of Tuck and Katie’s kitchen, my place is depressingly quiet. A boulder of exhaustion rolls over me.

An hour ago, I was wired. Scratch that. I was on freaking fire. Tuck’s huge, capable hands were on me, and the burst of energy that gave me—let’s be real, the burst of desire too—had me breaking out cheers I haven’t done since college.

I have no idea how the energy between Tuck and me went from cold to . . . definitely not cold in the space of a single day. Maybe it was his random acts of kindness? Or how freaking cute he is with Katie? All I know is the switch happened quickly while I wasn’t watching. Then he’s touching me, tossing me into the air like I weigh no more than a feather, and I’m buzzing.

Up until today, I genuinely believed men like Tuck didn’t exist. I’ve never met a man who cooks, much less one who is openly caring and considerate. Meeting Tuck is turning out to be a mind fuck.

Taking off my bra, I shiver at the memory of his fingers digging into my sides. Maybe it’s because he’s so damn big, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer with a guy. He clearly has no stunt experience, but I wasn’t worried about him dropping or hurting me.

I pull on my favorite T-shirt. The paper-thin fabric catches on my nipples, electrifying the throb between my legs. It’s been there ever since Tuck walked into the kitchen earlier tonight, looking like an especially delicious mafia don with his tattoos peeking out of his crisp white button-up. The expertly tailored slacks didn’t hurt either. His ass is a delight. So are his thighs, which are literally the size of tree trunks.


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