Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
A man with pride who is also willing to set it aside. Now that’s . . . something.
Something that could lead to something more than casual.
Uh-uh. Not happening.
“Could you try on the jeans now?”
Is that a knowing glint in his eye as he stands to his full, magnificent height? It better not be. “Sure, Evie.”
While he’s in the hallway bathroom changing, I give myself a pep talk. I’ve seen how fickle men can be. How hurtful and irresponsible. I came here for a fresh start with my son, and I’ve done that. I’ve sketched the framework of a new life, and now I’m coloring it in slowly. Romance only causes the colors to bleed, the sketch to become distorted. Or it becomes a new sketch entirely. I don’t want that. I’m not ready for that.
Except when Luke moseys out of the bathroom in jeans and no shirt, my hormones start making their own sketch. One where I find a reliable babysitter and have my way with this giant, humble farmer from time to time. Surely there would be no harm in that. When done properly and safely, sex is downright healthy!
“Evie . . . ,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve never had pants that fit me before. Not well, anyway. These feel like they were made for me.”
The gratitude in his tone distracts me from the high-cut muscles of his hips. “They were made for you.”
He nods once, starts to say something, and closes his mouth again, like he’s sort of overcome by my Christmas gift, and now I feel even worse about coming here to throw it in his face. In fact, I wish I’d made him ten pairs of jeans. Maybe I’m even going to. “Thank you,” he says finally. “I expect you to charge me.”
“Not this time,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re a gift.”
Not unlike the day he demanded to pay five dollars for the jeans he ripped, I glimpse a stubborn streak in the farmer. I don’t find it off-putting, though. Not when it seems to stem from a need to repay kindness. I find that . . . appealing. Too appealing.
“I’m afraid I can’t accept a gift without reciprocating,” he says. “I practically raised my brothers and sisters, all while preparing to take over this farm from my parents. I understand giving, not taking.”
I stand up and cross the room, circling around Luke’s back, tugging the waistband in spots to check the fit. “You can’t even accept a pair of jeans?”
“No.”
I’m standing in front of him now, close enough to feel the heat of his thick torso, his breath on the crown of my head.
“And I’m warning you, if you don’t take my money, I’m going to return the favor a different way. You won’t see it coming.”
“Oooh, scary,” I say, tipping my head back and faking a shiver. Although, that shiver becomes real and warm when I catch him staring at my mouth like it’s chocolate gelato. “I guess I just have to take my chances, Luke Ward.”
His throat works. “Do you want to be kissed, or am I dreaming?”
I allow my breasts to meet his chest, and he breaks off a sound. “Try it and find out.”
“Fuck.”
He hasn’t even finished breathing the word like an oath before his mouth latches on to mine and I’m stumbling back over the sensual impact of his need. It’s heavy, this weight he’s been carrying. I sense that immediately, and it turns me on because I’m needy, too, and while my head is spinning from the first lap of his tongue against mine, I can’t lie to myself. This neediness started the first time he came into the thrift shop and nothing fit.
“God, you’re so beautiful. God.” The fingers of his right hand tunnel through my hair, then continue, frantic, down my back, drawing me close, tight. Letting me feel the growing ridge in his jeans. “I like the look of you in my house, Evie.”
An alarm bell chimes in the back of my head. Not enough to call a halt to the delicious slant of his mouth over mine, but enough to issue a necessary warning. “I’m not interested in anything serious.”
He twists a fist in the rear waistband of my jean shorts and draws me up onto my toes like that, the denim pressure against my core making me whimper. Oh man. Oh wow. “What are you interested in?” he asks, looking me in the eye. Tugging my waistband.
Up. Up.
“I already told you, Luke,” I gasp, following his silent directive to climb, winding my legs around his hips, letting hard settle into soft, pressing, pressing, a soft exclamation tumbling out of my mouth, a curse coming from his.
“Friends with benefits is for boys,” he says, backing me against his refrigerator. Planting his erection right there and grinding lightly, then harder. Harder. “I ain’t no boy.”