Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Of course I had, but he didn’t need to know that. “I came here for anonymity. I moved here,” I pointed to the floor, “to be left alone.”
“I get it. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I hoped that was true. “Make sure it is. Now… I need to—”
“Do you mind if I check out the rest of the changes you’ve made so far?”
I frowned.
He quickly explained, “The only room I haven’t seen yet is the bedroom. I promise not to climb into your bed.” A short laugh followed.
Who said that kind of shit?
This man was crazy. Absolutely bat-shit crazy. And so damn inappropriate.
I took a deep inhale in an attempt to cool my irritation at the pushy man. I kept telling myself over and over he was only trying to be friendly. But that didn’t mean I had to like it and I really had a difficult time believing he didn’t want anything more. If he did, I wasn’t willing to give him that.
I didn’t even want to be friends since he’d be one of those annoying ones you barely tolerated. You only did so because your significant other, your family or your close friends were friends with him, too, so you had no choice. Friends by association.
However, here I had a choice.
I sighed. If I said no, would I sound like a complete bastard?
Did I really care if I did?
In actuality, would it hurt for him to see my bedroom? Maybe he’d leave once he saw what he wanted. “Fine. But make it quick.”
He gave me a lopsided smile that was far too sexy than it should be and beelined to my bedroom, most likely worried I’d change my mind.
I thought about it since watching him step into my most intimate space in the cabin made ants march up my spine.
I immediately followed him because I wouldn’t put it past him to start digging through my damn underwear drawer. Leaning against the door frame with my arms crossed over my chest, I watched him take a quick spin around the small bedroom. There really wasn’t much to see other than the new ceiling fan I had installed, along with the new, bigger, draft-free windows to get a better view of the lake.
Other than that, it was just cleaned up and full of my furniture.
“Looks so much more livable than it used to. It feels more like a home now.”
A home you’re invading.
But I agreed with his assessment. It now felt like home.
I had my king-sized brass bed set up with all new bedding. I had only brought the frame, mattress and box spring with me from the Jericho house. I had donated all the bedding since Thomas had done most of the decorating and it reminded me too much of him.
I never wanted to forget him and I never would. But to sleep under the same bedding now as when we did as a married couple…
I couldn’t.
Especially since it had held his scent.
Damn it.
My eyes stung unexpectedly. Even though it had been about two years, it still felt like yesterday. Why did his loss still affect me so much? Why couldn’t I “move on” like so many people urged me to do?
Again, I didn’t want to forget him, I only wanted to lessen the sting of losing him.
I thought moving here would put me on that path. Instead, it dropped me in the middle of Rett Williams’ path. And he kept trying to run me over.
As authors, I swore we had to be a little touched in the head to be able to write the stories we did, because it was the crime thriller author in me who asked, “Is this where they found him?”
Now who was being creepy? But changing the subject was a good way to get out of my head and keep from drowning in my sorrows.
Neither of us wrote sappy Hallmark type romances. We wrote gritty stories about murderers and bad people doing horrible things and our goal was to bring those people to justice in an on-the-edge-of-your-seat, entertaining type of way.
Only Dexter Peabody, P.I., was a goofball, unlike my more serious serial killer hunter Detective Nick Foster.
It came as no surprise that Peabody acted like he did now that I’ve met the author behind the character.
That author turned toward me.
“Coleman,” I clarified when his mouth opened and nothing came out. I must have finally found something to throw him off his game.
His expression turned grim. “I think so, but I didn’t come inside. I let the Troopers handle it.”
I wished I hadn’t gone inside, either, that day. I wish I wouldn’t have that particular memory burned into my brain for the rest of my life.
I regretted that it was me who found Thomas, but on the other hand, I would’ve regretted if it hadn’t been me and someone else had come across him instead. Or if I hadn’t seen him one last time.