Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
That’s it.
I lose it again.
I go down in a laughing fit, clapping my hands over my mouth, but all that does is make it come out in little spurts while I laugh until my stomach hurts.
“I’m sorry!” I mumble around my fingers. “But I told you not to stand up.”
“Yeah, yeah. Boat’s too big for me; you’re too small to counterbalance. You’d think I’d remember how to handle a fucking tiny skiff like this after being a sailor.” He snorts in disgust, but his eyes glitter warmly. “Laugh it up, New York. I really did think the picnic basket was about to go over the side.”
I bite back another giggle, clearing my throat and trying to plaster on a straight face. “It probably would have, if you hadn’t decided to take its place. You saved our lunch. My very own Herc.”
“You wanna get wet too?” he growls and lunges toward me, rocking the boat.
I squeal, holding my hands up.
“No, no, no, you’ll tip us over!”
He mock-pounces.
I tumble back against the edge of the boat, gripping the sides.
The water slaps and splashes as it sways frantically, but Lucas catches both edges, stopping himself mid-lunge and grinning at me far too wickedly for a man who just dumped himself in the lake a minute ago.
“Gotcha,” he practically purrs.
I widen my eyes—then sit up and scramble for the picnic basket.
I dig around inside until I find one of the crumpled-up napkins and lob it right at his dripping wet face.
The napkin hits him square between the eyes, and he bursts out laughing, sinking back onto the opposite seat as the boat slowly begins to calm.
“Guess I deserved that.”
“Only a little,” I grumble, but I’m still grinning.
I can’t help myself.
Shaking my head, I lean forward to dig around until I find the blankets I folded under our lunch just in case Lucas wasn’t keen on boating and would rather picnic on the shore.
I wouldn’t have minded. We had a lovely slow morning hike here, taking in the late summer air, the birds, the shimmering green leaves.
But this is nice, too.
Just us in our own little world in the center of the lake. Too far from the houses on the shore to be anything but a speck, half the perimeter ringed by thick walls of trees.
Ever since I’ve moved here, I’ve felt watched.
That’s why it’s nice to feel safe and alone out here with Lucas.
I shake the two blankets into my lap, then bend my finger at him.
“Come here. Carefully this time.”
Lucas quirks a thick black brow at me before he moves across the boat, stretching his body out and laying his head down in my lap.
I smile down at him as I brush his wet hair back, gently scrubbing it with a corner of the blanket before dabbing at his cheeks.
“You could stay like this,” I say.
“Thought you promised me dessert,” he says, lacing his hands together over his stomach.
Every last one of his abs is outlined like he’s just naked and painted blue.
“Dessert’s finger food. So if you hold still...”
“What? You’re saying you’ll feed me?” A slow smile grows on his lips.
“Don’t get used to it. I’m not playing harem girl, feeding the Emperor grapes every day.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even like grapes.”
“It’s a metaphor. But how do you feel about strawberries?” Bending over him, I rummage around in the basket again. “Voil—ah!”
That yelp?
It comes out because while I bent over him, Lucas nipped the underside of one of my breasts.
I yank back, blushing furiously, the little basket of strawberries and sealed tin of chocolate dip clutched against my chest.
“Lucas!”
He grins up at me unrepentantly. “Thought you were offering me a strawberry. Whoops.”
“Why are you such a giant dick?”
“Mainly?” His grin widens. “'Cause you like this big dick so damn much.”
I huff. “Don’t get too cocky, mister, or no strawberries for you.”
I don’t know how it’s possible for his grin to get any wider, and it looks good on his perma-grump face.
His lazy, half-lidded eyes gleam with an amusement that stops my heart.
“You want to talk metaphors? You want to know what strawberries are a metaphor for in some of the older books I read? ’Cause I think I just got a mouthful.”
Yep.
I’m going to spontaneously combust and it’s all his fault.
“I’m going to murder you.” I stare at him flatly.
“That’s a Class One felony in North Carolina,” he teases. “Threatening an officer of the law. Minimum sentence, not being allowed to leave my bedroom for at least a week.”
“Psssh! They’ll never catch me if you happen to accidentally choke on a strawberry here.” I smile sweetly as I pry the lid off the chocolate sauce, dipping a fresh red strawberry in before I hold it to his lips. “Feeling lucky today?”
Smirking, Lucas runs his tongue over his lips—then slowly sinks his teeth into the strawberry.