Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Just like that, he slips into my heart, laying claim to the biggest piece of it. Crap. I'm falling for this madman. This is bad. This is so bad.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? I've been falling for him since I met the crazy man in the locker room. It's fast and intense, but it feels a little like breathing. If, you know, I was running a race while trying to breathe. My point is, falling for him is exciting and terrifying but it feels right, too.
"Colter?"
"Yeah, Trouble?"
"There is no competition," I whisper. "There's just you."
"Fuck." He presses his forehead to mine, exhaling a breath.
"Kiss me."
His lips touch mine. I think he intends it to be a short, chaste kiss, but neither of us are capable of that.
We end up making out against the side of his truck in the middle of the parking lot like horny teenagers. It's his fault. That mouth is a deadly weapon. As soon as he kisses me, I ignite like kindling. Every piece of me goes up in flames, burning for him.
"Goddamn, Trouble," he groans, pressing his face to my throat. "You're trying to get us arrested, aren't you? Saying shit like that when I'm already two seconds from bending you over and seeing just how smart that mouth is when you're begging me to let you come."
My core clenches as desire shoots through me. I want that. I want him. But two can play this game of his. "Maybe you'll be the one begging, Colter. You should probably start practicing now. I bet you'll sound adorable asking me for permission."
He nips my throat. "Keep fucking around, and we're going to find out how much you like being punished, Trouble. Think you can count smacks with my dick down your throat?"
Oh my gosh. He's filthy.
Wait. Why do I like it?
"Tease me again, and we'll find out," he growls in my ear before slowly peeling himself off me.
Naturally, he looks cool as a cucumber. Meanwhile, my dang legs are wobbly. He notices and smirks at me.
"Let's go talk to the sheriff, Trouble. I've got plans for you later."
Gulp.
Sheriff Dillon Armstrong isn't thrilled to see us. And by us, I mean me. He's in the lobby when we step inside. I think he's watching television, even though he has a pad of paper in his hands and is acting like he's taking notes about whatever the elderly man standing across from him is saying.
He glances from the TV to us. His gaze runs over Colter first. He quickly assesses him, gives him a nod, then looks at me. I think he ages ten years right in front of my eyes. Weary acceptance and a healthy dose of wariness enter his expression.
"Randall, I'll swing by tomorrow and talk to Jeff about the property line again. But this isn't a criminal matter. It's a civil dispute."
"He's trespassing!" Randall protests.
"He's mowing his yard for crying out loud," Dillon says, clearly exasperated with the old man. "If you don't want him running the mower right up against the property line, put up a fence, but it's got to be mowed one way or another. How do you expect him to do that without touching your side?"
"He could get a smaller mower," Randall sniffs. "The one he's using is just obscene."
"Right. Well, I can't force him to buy a smaller mower. Unless you want to start mowing along the property line..."
"Me?" Randall sounds horrified by the prospect.
"Didn't think so." Dillon flips his notebook closed. "I'll swing by tomorrow to talk to Jeff and see what we can work out."
"Thanks, Sheriff." Randall seems satisfied with this and scurries out, beaming like he won the turf war.
"Jesus Christ," Dillon mutters to himself before he stomps toward us. "I'm ready to build a damn fence myself if it keeps Randall Johnson out of my damn office every week. No one warned me another Marsh sister was moving to town. Why didn't anyone warn me?"
"I wasn't aware you needed advanced notice about little ole me," I say, batting my lashes. Dillon's wife, Jules, works with Charlie's husband's twin. We tend to spend time with the same people.
He snorts. "How the hell else am I supposed to know when to plan my retirement? How long have you been here?"
"Six weeks."
"I'm six weeks overdue to retire, then."
Colter glances between us. "I take it she's not the only troublemaker in her family?"
Dillon throws his head back and laughs. "The only one? Shit, she isn't even the worst one."
"We aren't troublemakers," I protest.
"Charlie couldn't stay out of trouble if you paid her. She was just in here two days ago, causing me problems."
"Okay, so maybe she's the exception," I relent with a laugh. Charlie is kind of a menace.
Dillon smiles, shaking his head. "She isn't the exception, but I'll let you go with that. Why are you here? And does Razor know you're running around with a hockey player?"