Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
He’s good; he barely flinches before covering it with a wide and easy smile. “I am currently without employment.”
I’m about to ask what he did before, but something brittle and pained lingers in those coffee-colored eyes of his, and I don’t have the heart. Yesterday he was drunk on my lawn. I don’t think life is going his way at the moment, and I have no desire to pick at that wound.
He covers the silence by pointing at a green vine. “Pull this?”
“No. That’s a tomato vine.”
It becomes apparent that Killian isn’t comfortable with long silences. “So was this place ever a working farm?”
I’d think he talks to hear himself, but he looks at me with genuine interest every time he asks a question. I take a moment to look at the land around me. Collar Island is part of the chain known as the Outer Banks. While the northern end has a town and multiple grand vacation homes, the southern tip—where my grandma’s house is located—is fairly isolated. Nothing but a few scattered houses and waving green and tawny grass, surrounded by sandy beach and vivid blue ocean.
“Back when my grandparents were young,” I say. “They farmed rotating vegetable crops. Same with the owners of the house you’re staying in. Now I just attend to the land nearest the house and let the rest grow free.”
“Beautiful place,” Killian admits. “Kind of lonely, though.”
Can’t say much to that. So I merely nod.
We go back to work. Which is good, fine. Until Killian reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt to tuck it in his back pocket.
I’ve already seen the man naked. But that was different. I was too pissed and too busy trying to get him clean to fully notice the particulars. Now he’s in the full sun, his tan skin already glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He’s lean and strong, his muscles a work of art. The massive tattoo that covers his left shoulder and torso is actually a vintage map of the world, like a spread-out globe.
“You looking at my art, Libs?” He sounds amused.
I meet his eyes and find them glinting, those ridiculously long lashes practically touching his cheeks. No fair that a dude has such pretty eyes.
“I am. I figure you put pictures on your body, it’s fair game for anyone to study them.”
His grin is quick, devilish, the little dimples on the sides of his mouth going deep then fading with his smile. “Didn’t say I minded.” He sits back on his heels so I can see it all.
Unfortunately, I find myself wanting to study his lower abdomen, where the muscles are like stepping stones leading the way down to Mr. Happy.
Damn it. I am not attracted to this guy. Nope. I’m just undersexed and need to get me some. Soon. But not with Killian. I cannot forget how I met him. Alcohol addiction is my hard line in the sand; it destroyed everything I loved.
Ignoring my inner argument, I take in his tattoo. It’s done in clean, sure lines, more of an impression of the globe instead of being heavy with detail. And it is beautiful.
“Does it have any meaning?” I ask. “Or was it for fun?”
Killian tosses a dark lock of hair back from his face. “Started off as a way to cover up a mistake.”
He leans in, bringing the scent of clean sweat and heady male pheromones with him. Hell. There really isn’t any good way to describe that fragrance other than delicious and addictive. I brace myself as he points to a spot above his nipple where there’s a compass rose. “I wanted to cover a name. Darla.”
“Love gone bad?”
He gives me a wry grin. “That would at least be romantic. But no. It was high school graduation. Me and…” His face goes blank for a second, a haunted look flashing in his eyes. But he blinks, and it’s gone. “My friends and I got wasted and hunted down one of our other friends who was practicing to become a tattoo artist. I was the guinea pig.”
“And he put ‘Darla’ on you?”
“Yep.” Killian sits back and starts to weed again. But he’s still grinning.
“Who was Darla?”
He laughs. “That’s the thing; she was just a name he thought would sound funny. I might have kept it. But, shit, it was ugly—all lopsided and fucking loopy.” Killian shakes his head. “Looked like some third grader did it.”
I can’t help but laugh too. “Nice.”
Killian’s expression goes soft, his gaze running over my face. His smile grows.
“What?” I ask, thrown by the gleam in his eyes. It makes my breath catch.
“You’re pretty.”
He says it so matter of fact, I snort. “You sound surprised.”
Killian leans in just a little. “Truth? I am. You’ve been scowling at me so much… Ah, there it is again. Glaring hate-fire at me.” The calloused tip of his finger traces the top of my cheek, and my lower belly clenches in shock. His voice grows thoughtful. “But when you smile? You kind of glow.”