Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Here.” He boosted me up as if I weighed nothing more than a feather, and ordered, “See if you can get it open.”
I could get it open.
What I couldn’t do was fit my ass through it. Which I found out after having him force me to try.
“I can’t.” I wiggled and wiggled some more. Finding it very embarrassing when I couldn’t go past my hips. “I can’t do it.”
The sad fact was, even with all my clothes off, I couldn’t even think about it.
“All right.” He helped me back down after a few more seconds. “My turn.”
He then hoisted himself the six feet up, then with an impressive show of power, went right through the window as if my ass hadn’t just gotten stuck in it.
“If you can manage it!” he called out just as his feet disappeared from sight. “Head around. I’ll open the door for you.”
I did manage it.
Barely.
That was until I got to the back porch.
He yanked open the door, startled me, and I went flying backward.
I landed flat on my back in the snow, staring up at the man who’d just scared the hell out of me.
His mouth was open, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or be concerned.
I wasn’t sure myself.
I inhaled deeply, which sounded like I was a gasping whale with its first taste of oxygen in way too long.
“Are you okay?” he finally settled on.
I reached my hand up to him, and he all but yanked me to standing, his hands going to my ass and back to wipe the snow free of my backside an instant later.
“I’m fine,” I wheezed. “You just scared me. I didn’t expect you to get there so fast.”
He made a sound in his throat that I would laugh at later.
“It’s okay to laugh,” I promised him. “I won’t hate you.”
That did it.
He broke down, moving to where his hands were above his knees, and he was half bent over.
“Oh, fuck. Your face.” He chuckled as he shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you, but that was funny as fuck.”
I pushed him, and he tightened his abs in response, but ultimately moved out of the way of the doorway.
I stomped inside and started to strip my clothes off almost the instant I was inside.
I had snow in my hair. My mouth. My bra. And my underwear.
I was stripping down to almost nothing before I realized what I was doing and stopped.
I stood there in my panties, socks, and t-shirt before realizing that the man that’d been doing the laughing was no longer laughing.
I look back at him with a raised brow. “What?”
“You.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to strip the moment you got in the door.”
I grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting to have cold snow shoved down my bra, but here we are.”
I stepped over the mess on the floor and headed to my bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.”
And while I took that shower, I damn sure wasn’t going to deny myself the use of my shower head.
Because, oh my god. Jeremiah was in my house, and I was expected to keep my hands to myself for the duration of his stay.
Which, if I had to admit, would take a lot of willpower to do.
Because Jeremiah had this pull. This alpha magnetism that drew everyone in his vicinity to pay attention to him.
His perfect body.
His muscular arms.
His strong jaw, and that beard covering it.
That beard that’d been like a saddle when…
I angrily yanked the rest of my clothes off and tossed them in the vicinity of the laundry basket as I walked into my bedroom.
I’d pick them up… eventually. More likely, the day before laundry day would hit, I’d run out of clothes to wear, and then I’d pick them all up off the floor and choose the cleanest of them all to re-wear.
I did not do laundry right along with my desire to never do dishes.
It was my least favorite adult job that there was to have.
I could dust. I could scrub toilets. I could mop the floor.
But laundry was just sucky.
Though, at least I could do laundry. Dishes gave me so much anxiety that there were times that I ate off paper plates for weeks and refused to cook if it meant getting a pot dirty.
I was just about to step into my bathroom when there was a knock at my door.
I froze and said, “Yes?”
Please come in here and touch me.
He didn’t read my mind. Instead, he called through the door, “Do you mind if I start us some coffee and something to eat? I’m starving, and bakery items only take me so far.”
I grinned, mostly because I agreed.
“Sure.” I paused. “I think I have some lunch meat in the fridge. But if you want anything other than that, you’re gonna need to pull something out of the freezer. In there, I have venison, chicken, buffalo, and I think possibly steaks.”