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)
He’s older, maybe in his mid thirties.
A single glance cuts through me. I actually rock back a step, straining to find my footing again. Even the dogs seem tense behind me, frozen in place with their ears perked.
“Miss Landers? Good morning.” He reaches inside his jacket.
My blood glazes over.
Is he going for a weapon? What if he’s some kind of mafia gun coming to wipe me out?
Except he only pulls out a sleek white envelope.
I’m already looking for a bank logo before he pushes it toward me.
Yep, here we go. Gram had some loan or lien I didn’t know about, and I’m being foreclosed.
She kept impeccable records, though. I’ve sifted through the office several times.
The mortgage on this place was paid off thirty years ago, and she had just enough in the business account to keep the day-to-day going.
“Are you well?” the stranger asks, raking me with those wintry eyes. “Miss Landers, you’re pale. If this is a bad time—”
The second I start shaking my head and open my mouth to reply, Coffee lunges past my legs, straight at my visitor.
Oh, no.
He rears up with a loud, curious bark. Then a massive paw catches the barely fastened belt of my robe as he crashes down on his long legs, pulling it open.
A cool breeze rushes through the thin cotton of my tank top and panties, winding down my bare legs.
But all I feel is fire as I reach down, desperately trying to make myself decent again.
When I look up, there’s a smirk stabbing across the banker man’s face.
A gentleman would’ve turned around or at least glanced away.
This man stares, his eyes roaming my bare flesh, making me feel naked and vulnerable in front of him.
Fury throbs under my cheeks as I yank my robe shut with both hands.
Coffee’s big, wet nose presses against the hand gripping the envelope.
“Coffee, sit!”
Of course, he chooses now not to listen. He just stands there with his curly tail flicking.
The man doesn’t move, turning his amused gaze to the dog.
My stomach knots.
I don’t have a clue who he is or what he wants, but all I need is for this guy to scare my very large dog into bowling him over.
“He doesn’t bite. Can I help you?” I need to end this and get the dogs inside.
Not to be left out, Cream bounces past me too, sniffing the stranger’s hand. It’s big and calloused, more like a workman’s hand than the cool professional it’s attached to.
He looks at Cream, not me, and says, “Not today, lady.”
Wait. He knows the dogs?
I clear my throat loudly until he holds his hand out.
“Miles Cromwell. Your neighbor—of sorts.”
I blink, taking his hand loosely.
“I know who you are,” I lie.
Actually, I’ve heard the name before. It totally doesn’t match this angled face, all sharp edges and moody dark windswept hair with a dusting of stubble around a mouth that looks like it’s made to give commands.
This is not the recluse I pictured who owns the neighboring lot.
He’s owned it for years, but I’ve never seen him before. Not that it’s easy when there’s a pretty huge acreage separating the houses.
Aren’t rich hermits usually over sixty years old?
Grizzled, ancient, eccentric men who keep the shades drawn and hoard strange things like pop-up turkey timers.
“Oh, right. You’re here about the intrusion on the beach, huh? If the dogs dug a hole on your side—”
The cool eyebrow he lifts stops me mid-sentence.
“I’ll never complain about Coffee and Cream.” He glances at the dogs before his eyes flick over, trailing my body again.
Annoying.
I’m not used to being ogled, especially by strange men with sky-spanning shoulders and dusky eyes from a vampire romance book.
My cheeks burn hotter, unsure how to feel. And even though I’m completely covered by my fluffy robe, there’s a tingle in places no stranger should ever touch.
“They do seem to be more than you can handle,” he points out bluntly.
I raise a brow this time. Is that a joke?
Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny, McDick next door.
“Can I help you, or what? Did you come to borrow a cup of sugar?” I ask again. “If you’re just here to gab, this isn’t the best—”
“I came to offer my sincerest condolences. Lottie was an amazing woman. I’m sure you know everyone here respected her. We’re all worse off without her, but you know that,” he says.
I bat my eyes numbly.
He knew Gram too? What’s going on?
He extends the hand grasping the envelope again, shoving it toward me. “Also, a special delivery. Given the circumstances, I thought it was best to make you an offer in person.”
“Offer?”
What on earth is he talking about?
“I trust you’ll find it compelling. Please take it in the spirit Lottie would have intended.”
I shake my head loosely, taking a step back into the house. “What offer are we talking about?”