Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Before, I thought it was his abs and flashing blue glances, but it turns out a good smile can turn my stomach into a butterfly house. I try to swallow past the emotion.
It’s not easy with that rock creeping up my throat, knowing this is it.
“Thanks,” I say, helping with the straps. “I don’t usually play damsel in distress.”
“Shocking. You’re rather good at it, Dess.”
Dess.
When did we become nickname familiar and why do we have to go back?
I almost cringe at the thought of him Miss Lancastering me again, which he will if we only see each other in some stuffy, formal spotlight appearances for Young Influencers.
“Thanks. Did you like the way I fluttered my eyelashes?” I bat them at him now, before stopping, because the weekend is over with its easy smiles and soul-shattering sexy times.
We’re almost home.
Back in Seattle, destined to be strangers again.
It’s funny when you think about it, how a man you shared so much with has to be unfamiliar again. But that’s the story of every bad breakup and heart-wrenching divorce, isn’t it?
Becoming unfamiliar enough to smother love.
Somehow, this hurts worse because we never even had a proper romance.
Just a couple days of incredible, messy mistakes in the wilderness hinting at something too amazing to ever be.
Silently, I strap the kayak down on the roof of my car and Shepherd nods at me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay when you get home? Are you going back to your family?”
“I’ll be fine,” I lie. Somehow, I have to be. “You don’t need to worry about me. And I keep a small apartment here I sublease to a friend when I’m not around. I’m looking forward to some alone time to rest up, honestly.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Dude, I told you, I’m no damsel in distress. I just really like watching you carry heavy things.” I would also really, really like seeing him in my apartment.
Which is so impossible he’d probably laugh in my face if I outed it.
But I hope I’m right.
I just need time to heal.
Why should the heart be any different from the muscles killing me in my arms and legs?
A day or two of downtime, and this ache in my chest should recover. I’ll start to forget all about the grumpy billionaire and our otter excursions.
Time heals all wounds, they say.
...yeah, I don’t believe it either.
“I’m not much for goodbyes,” he says evenly.
“Yeah. Right. I guess this is it.”
“Will you be in tomorrow morning?”
Oh, boy.
Is that hope in his voice?
“I’m no slacker.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes.
He smirks. “You were awfully stiff this morning and you don’t have to be in the office. You can do the grant work remotely.”
“Well, I need a focused workspace if I want to make this proposal shine. I’ve still got the board to wow, even if I’ve sold you.”
I’m also trying like hell not to think about the sinful way he massaged my battered muscles that led to so much more.
“So, yeah, I’ll probably be in,” I repeat.
He nods, serious and unreadable again.
“Good. The hard part is over then. I’ll email you my personal recommendation with the drone flight data. If your presentation doesn’t convince them, that will.” He sticks out his hand. “Goodbye and good luck, Destiny Lancaster.”
Oh, God.
We’re doing this.
Shaking hands.
Touching for the very last time.
Come tomorrow, we’re back to being philanthropist rockhead CEO mentor and overly sensitive program apprentice again.
Nothing more.
I guess he’s just preparing for the frozen distance with an impersonal handshake.
Except, as his fingers close around mine, it’s the most sexually charged handshake in human history.
Help me.
I have a problem.
There’s nothing sexy about basic handshakes.
But my heart rate spikes halfway to Jupiter, and I give him a professional nod before inhaling and stepping back, releasing his hand. Or maybe he releases mine.
All I know is, I’m so cold and my hand feels sweaty and I can still feel his calloused palms against mine as I rush away, trying not to tear up.
Thank God his back is already turned, and he’s heading back to the boat to grab his own kayak.
I watch him for a single second with one hand on my car door before I tear my eyes away.
CEO and intern.
Strangers once more.
That’s all we are.
All we ever should be.
There’s no good reason I should feel like I’m losing a massive, hurting slice of my heart and heading home empty.
No reason at all.
A long walk on the beach and taking the long way home through Pike Place, followed by an evening snuggling with Molly and a good book, still can’t clear my head.
That’s due to the most invasive, erotic dreams of my life that night.
Shepherd Foster has me tossing and turning and wishing I could forget so many things.
His delicious weight on my body.
His freckles, always so light and muted unless you really notice them in the light.