Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
After getting a ride home from another friend and stewing for an hour after that, Macy decided it was time she got some answers from Mr. Tyler Stanton. He didn’t answer his phone, so she headed over to the Serendipity Inn. She pulled her little Mustang up to the house and parked on the street.
As she walked up the driveway and path to the front door, she waved to Joanne Rhodes, the owner, who was on her knees, weeding in her flower beds.
“Hi, Macy. How are you this fine day?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Did you get over to the art festival?” Macy asked her.
Joanne nodded. “This morning. I wanted to spend time with my flowers this afternoon. Here to see Tyler?” she asked.
“Yes. Is he in?” A stupid question because his car was parked in the extra spots in the back of the driveway, but she forced herself to make polite conversation before she could head in.
“Upstairs. I have to admit, he’s such a nice, polite man. I’m sad to see him go.”
Macy stiffened but forced herself not to ask her for details. Those she wanted from Tyler. She didn’t want to think he’d leave without saying goodbye, but after the way he’d dumped her at the fair, maybe she shouldn’t give him that much credit.
She managed a smile. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Gathering her anger as well as her courage, she headed inside and upstairs to his room. She knocked once and the door swung open.
The Tyler who answered the door didn’t look anything like the composed, put-together man she was used to seeing. Instead, his normally neat hair was messed, having apparently been attacked by his fingers, and his eyes were a bit wild, his focus clearly scattered.
“Macy.” To his credit, he sounded happy to see her.
“We need to talk,” she said, pushing her way into his room, only to see his suitcase open on the end of the bed. Her stomach plummeted at the sight.
She turned to him, folding her arms across her chest, pinning him with her most determined glare. “Tell me you’d planned on saying goodbye.”
* * *
Tyler stared at her, wishing he could give her the answer she wanted. But the truth was, he’d heard what Nicole had to say about not hurting her. He also knew there were people in town watching him. And he hadn’t wanted to put her in any danger. So he’d planned to go home, settle things with his father, then come back here and see what could be—with Macy.
“You. Suck.” She shoved his shoulder, her blue eyes flashing with hurt and anger.
He grabbed her wrist and met her gaze. “Yeah, I do. And you deserve a hell of a lot better than getting involved with me.”
She jerked out of his grasp and sat down on the bed. “We’re not involved, Tyler. Maybe there’s chemistry between us, but I’m not stupid enough to put any stock in you. Not while you’re here chasing after another woman. But I at least thought we were friends.”
“Oh, we’re friends.”
Chin high, she glared at him, but Tyler knew her better by now and he saw beyond the bravado and the words. Like it or not, they were both involved, more than either wanted to be. He’d just wanted to come back to explore it, no baggage holding him back from her.
“Friends don’t take off on each other without a word. We were together, looking at paintings, no mention of you needing to deal with Nicole. Next thing I know, you’re focused on her and leaving me—without a ride home. Not cool.”
No, it wasn’t. And he’d been so thrown by the Russian art dealers, he hadn’t once thought about the fact that he’d abandoned her there. One minute they’d been looking at landscapes, and the next his entire life and Nicole’s flashed before him.
“I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath. “Like I said, you deserve better than to have to deal with me.”
Silence followed and he knew he’d lost her.
“I didn’t peg you for a coward,” she said at last.
If she knew what he was dealing with, she might cut him some slack, but he didn’t want her pity. “I’m going to ask you for something. Something I have no right to ask of you.”
“What?” she asked, sounding wary.
Rightly so.
“Wait for me.”
“What?” Her soft lips parted in question.
He took advantage, leaned in, and settled his lips over hers. His intent? To give her something to remember him by. To entice her to hold out for him, despite having given her every reason not to trust him or want him to return.
The result? One taste and she imprinted herself on him for good. She rubbed her tongue against his, and with a groan, he pulled her up, wrapped his arm around her waist, and aligned his body with hers. He allowed himself this moment, holding her, feeling her, giving himself something to work toward when dealing with the nightmare back home. She softened against him, responding in ways he couldn’t have imagined. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, but not now.