Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I help her out of the truck and carry our bags inside, setting them by the front door. “Would you like something to eat?” I ask her. “I had the fridge stocked up. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I made sure to get a variety of things.”
She’s gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles white from the pressure, and I know she’s nervous. “I, uh—” She puts her hand over her stomach and grimaces. “I don’t think I can eat anything right now. Nerves!” she says with a laugh.
I hold my hand out to her, and she looks at it for what feels like minutes but is probably a mere few seconds. I almost pull back, rejected, but she finally reaches out, putting her hand in mine. “I’ll show you around.”
We walk around the cabin, and I show her the rest of the kitchen and living room. She admires the Christmas tree in the corner, and after seeing the pleasure on her face, I’m glad that the company had the cabin decorated for the holiday. I pull her toward the stairs, grabbing one of her bags on the way and then release her hand so I can follow her up the stairs for the bedrooms. Her hips sway in front of me, and the sound of her dress swishing back and forth mesmerizes me. Her dress is fitted along her bottom and short enough I can see her curvy calves. With my mouth watering and telling myself I need to relax before I scare the daylights out of her, I take deep, muted breaths and ignore the expanding bulge in my shorts.
I show her the bathroom in the hallway, a spare bedroom, and then the bedroom that I had already set my suitcase in earlier. “I’ll bring your luggage up in a little while.”
She looks around the room and walks toward the window, looking out at the backyard. “It’s beautiful, Mason.”
I walk up behind her, but instead of looking outside like I intended, I’m looking down at the top of her head. Her body is tense in front of me, and I reach out, my hand spanning her waist. She turns in my arms and looks up at me with hooded eyes. Because I can’t not do it, I lean down and capture her lips with mine. She kisses me back, her hand cupping my jaw and stretching along my neck.
Our lips move against each other, until instead of soft and exploring, something switches, and it becomes something more. The kiss turns frenzied and demanding, and my hands start to roam her body, across her shoulders and down her back to land on her sweet, full backside. I squeeze her, pulling her into me, and before I’m too far gone, I feel her tense in my arms, like an iron board, hard and unyielding.
She’s repulsed by me.
I drop my hands instantly and step back from her. Her lips are wet, swollen, and red. Her eyes are glassy and looking back at me with desire. But even seeing all that, I know I need to walk away. I’m not going to push myself on her.
I leave without a word, tromping down the stairs and out the back door to go chop wood. I have to do something to get out my frustrations, and wielding an ax is going to do it. I remind myself for the hundredth time, This marriage isn’t real, it’s just business.
But even as I mutter it under my breath, I can’t tamp down the thought that maybe we could make it real.
Mia
I stand in his bedroom—our bedroom—with my hands to my lips and watch him walk away. When he was kissing me, I was trying to pull away to tell him that I wanted to freshen up, but he was out the door before I could. My body is humming, alive with need, and I’m mentally kicking myself for not just going for it with him. It’s what I wanted. And by the way he held me in his arms, I know it’s what he wanted.
I go to the window and watch as he walks out of the house and instantly starts to stack a piece of wood, holding an ax over his head and then bringing it down to split the wood in half.
I watch him in awe. Even from this angle, I can tell he is mad. At me or himself, I’m not sure, but I know that I could stand here and watch him all day.
Like a peeping Tom, I watch as he repeats the process over and over. When he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the ground, I gasp loudly, the sound echoing in the room. His muscled chest is formed perfectly. Every muscle stretches in his arms and taut stomach as he swings the ax over and over. He’s like a man on a mission, not willing to be deterred.