Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
The FBI’s investigation doesn’t appear to have reached past Lockwood to the governor, and Cross hasn’t mentioned anything about going forward with whatever evidence he may have. I can’t imagine it’s good for him—just sitting on it.
To make things worse, now that my mother is living in her house again, Cross has moved into his bike shop. I’m hoping when Hunter and I get back to Napa, I can try to get a better feel for what’s going on.
Hunter wins the final hand and he, Cross, Marchant, and I have a few drinks in one of the lounges before Cross and Marchant head to—dear God— the ranch—and Hunter and I make our way toward his plane.
As we drive his Aston Martin to the airport where he rents a parking spot and stores his plane, he holds my hand tightly and looks at me often. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was tense.
His eyes flicker over my face once more before he turns onto Airport Lane. “Are you sure you’re not too tired to go tonight?”
I nod. “I’m sure. I miss Napa.”
We roll into the airport parking lot and his face grows serious. “Are you sure it’s not Crestwood you miss?”
I frown. “Yeah, I’m sure. Suri is a great roommate, but it’s nothing compared to living with you.” As soon as I say it, I wonder if the question was more about Hunter than me. “Why? Do you think I should go back to Crestwood?”
Things have been going so well the last few weeks, I haven’t really thought about them changing. But maybe I should have. Maybe Hunter’s decided it’s too soon for us to be spending all our time together.
I force a smile. “Are you getting Libby overload?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, no. Hell no. You’re not getting sick of my ass, are you?”
I giggle at his wording. “Your ass—yes. Totally sick of it. The rest of you I’ll take, but not that ass.” I stick my hand into his seat, grabbing at it, and Hunter’s hand captures mine and guides it to the bulge in front.
He hits a button on his steering wheel, and the door to the car garage lifts as he drops his head back against the seat and murmurs, “Mmmm.”
He guides the car into his spot—three walls of cement and a drop-door, a lot like a rented storage unit—and darkness swallows us up. I laugh and unbuckle as he shifts the car into park. I throw myself onto his lap and go straight for his belt.
“Get this off so I can show you what a real win looks like,” I say, grinning.
“Yes ma’am.”
I had my mind on something oral, but Hunter opens his door and pulls me out onto the cement floor. There’s a window and door here in our little garage, but with the lights out, I don’t think anyone could see us. Which is a good thing, because Hunter pushes my skirt up and lays me spread-eagle on the hood.
The warmth of the motor burns a little bit against my ass, and Hunter’s mouth burns somewhere else. It’s not long before I’m gasping for release. He doesn’t give it to me, so I sit up and grab at him until I get my hands on his pants. I tug them down, lie back, and beg him: “Please...”
“What the lady wants...”
“The lady gets,” I finish, panting.
I gasp as Hunter pushes inside me, and when we start to rock, I gasp some more. The sex tonight is hard and fast, a little rough. I like it this way. It’s not long before I’m crying Hunter’s name, and he’s shuddering over me.
When we leave the garage and walk back out into the parking lot, I’m feeling sleepy but totally satisfied. I squeeze Hunter’s hand as his plane comes into view.
He squeezes back. “It’ll be nice to get back to the vineyard.”
I look him over, studying his face, but it’s one of those moments where I just can’t read him—so I ask. “Do you think you’re ready?”
He shrugs. “It’s my house.”
“We’ll have to christen it.” We did the same thing at the penthouse, making love in all the spots where he was with Priscilla. At first it was hard for me to know details like that, but any doubts I might have been carrying are long gone now.
We follow the trail of runway lights, and Hunter helps me up the stairs and into the plane’s cabin, then goes out and talks to some of the techs. A few minutes later, he comes back in, with his hands in the pockets of his black pants. I’m surprised to find he looks troubled.
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, rocking my hips into his. “You okay?”
He nods. “Yeah.” He leans down for a hungry kiss, and we’re still going at it in one of the chairs when the pilot turns the ‘buckle seat belt’ light on and we have to separate.