Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Oops. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Just get ready to spin,” he says, listening intently to the music’s crescendo.
“What? I don’t know if I can—”
“Trust me.” He laces my fingers tighter to his.
Then with shocking dexterity, he uses the hand on my hip to guide me away from him.
I’m like a toy in his hands as he wheels me out, snapping me back toward him a second later.
It’s amazingly fluid—flawless, even, if only I didn’t mash his toes again.
“Was that so hard, Miss Landers? I think you’ll find dancing with a man easier than a drunken boy.”
“But I landed on your feet again,” I groan.
And I step on his toes again as I’m saying it.
“Easy fix.” He lifts me and places my feet over his, holding me so close I feel every breath, every pulse, every sweet degree of body heat.
I start to relax into him too easily.
“This can’t be comfortable for long,” I whisper.
I wish I believed it.
“You’d be surprised. Are you and the handyman really a thing yet or what?”
Oh, crap. So much for relaxing.
Are we?
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You had to think about it,” he points out.
I wrinkle my nose. “Why do you care? It’s like you’re worried I’ll sell him the inn instead.”
He doesn’t answer and the music thrums on.
“Well?”
He’s quiet for a minute, those eyes wide with mystery before he finally says, “If you and the handyman hook up, you may have a real reason for staying here.”
“And not sell you my property,” I finish for him.
It clicks in my brain.
I should have known.
This lame dance was calculated from the very beginning. I wouldn’t be surprised if he even feigned the jealousy act with Ace.
It’s all about the land.
His stupid need to expand his little kingdom and wall himself off from the world, and honestly, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad for everybody else.
It might save other clueless girls from thinking this devil of a man would ever be genuinely attracted to them.
“I get it now,” I mutter coldly.
Cromwell doesn’t answer.
“Okay, I think I’m out,” I say, pushing back until he lets go. “I hurt my ankle. I should go sit.”
“Your ankle? That’s not possible. You’re not moving like you’re hurt.”
The worst part is, his face gentles, and he looks at me with real concern.
“It just hit me now. I think it happened earlier on my way in, actually. I just didn’t notice.”
He walks closer, eclipsing me again.
“I’ll help you find a seat.”
I shake my head firmly. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
With a messy spin, I flee across the room, not bothering to fake a hobble.
I sit down next to Sarah and some local man with a fishing cap. She’s laughing at some dumb joke he tells her.
Cromwell stands in the middle of the dance floor, almost dumbstruck, staring like I’m the first woman who’s ever had the gall to leave him stranded alone on a dance floor.
I find that so very hard to believe.
A minute later, he stalks past me without saying anything and retreats to his corner table. I chat with Sarah about the town and her past projects before I get up and go around the busy bar, taking pictures of antique fishing gear and photos from Ireland.
A server brings a divine-looking appetizer piled with mozzarella sticks and wings to a couple sitting at a table across from Cromwell. It’s too perfect to ignore.
“Hi, do you mind if I get a quick shot of your food before you dig in? It’s for my tourism video,” I say.
“Go for it!” the woman says with a grin.
I’m well aware I have eyes on me the whole time.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t do it.
Focus.
I take a few shots and several five-second video clips and then start back toward my table at the front of the room.
But before I get there, Cromwell steps in front of me.
“Your ankle looks mended,” he says sharply.
I’m too gobsmacked to answer.
Not before he storms past me like a tornado and exits the tavern.
What the hell was that?
I’m left wondering for the next half hour as I pretend to make small talk with Sarah and a couple others from the crew. Smokey Dave joins us halfway through, offering a handful of edibles so potent they make my nostrils flare.
No thanks.
I barely notice when Ace walks up to me. “Thought I’d see if you got a second wind. Less people on the dance floor now. It’s all ours, if you want.”
“Oh, um—that’s sweet of you, but I was just going home. Rain check?”
He waves at me. “For sure. Need a walk home?”
“I’ve got it, Ace.”
I start to rummage around in my purse to pay my tab, but Ace grabs the small receipt in front of me. “I’ve got it. Go on and get out of here.”
Holy hell.
My heart could not be more confused tonight.
Despite the instinct to turn him down, I already know how pointless that is in Pinnacle Pointe. Kindhearted favors are almost a second language here and rejecting them is like a slap to the face.