Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
“You said most, not all.” She brightens at my words. “That’s good news. It means there are some hunky, single lumberjacks. I haven’t gotten laid in so long.”
If she keeps talking, I’m going to rip the steering wheel column out of here with my bare hands. I can’t imagine her spreading those thick thighs for some other guy or her calling his name in the throes of her release.
No, it should be me. Always me that she spreads her thighs for. That she screams the name of. That she lets eat her out and pleasure her.
My cock rises at the mental image of Lyla naked and writhing underneath me, her honey-brown eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. To distract myself from those thoughts, I jab at the radio and let the oldies station fill the cab.
Lyla starts humming along to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
I don’t want her thinking about fun with someone else. I flip to the next station only to hear the opening strains of When a Man Loves a Woman.
Finally, I shut the damn thing off.
“Why are you wearing grumpy pants today?” Lyla demands huffing.
She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing up her tits and I nearly groan. I thought the camping trip last year was going to kill me when she wandered around in that tiny blue bikini with the red sailboat on it.
But nope, it’s this. Being so damn close to her and never acting on my filthy thoughts. Never wrapping my fingers around her ponytail and watching her suck me off. Never fucking those delectable tits of hers. Or knowing what her sweet little pussy will taste like against my tongue.
“Why did you invite me here if you were just going to be so darn mean?” She demands. “There are a million places I could have started a donut shop. But you said that Mount Bliss would be perfect. You forgot to mention that my next-door neighbor would be Oscar the Grouch.”
This is the part where I should probably apologize and try to start the whole day over. But the last thing I need to do is give Lyla the idea that we’re ever going to be friends. Because a friend doesn’t think about pushing his friend up against the wall and fucking her until she can’t walk. Nope, the safest course of action is for me to keep my distance from her.
“Jamie wanted me to watch over you,” I growl.
I’m man enough to admit I want Lyla nearby too. I want to hear her beautiful laugh every day and watch the way her eyes shine when she’s talking about something she finds interesting. But she can’t ever know those things.
She uncrosses her arms but she’s still scowling. “This was a babysitting thing, wasn’t it? You know what, I don’t even care. This is something I’m doing without his help. I’m standing on my own two feet.”
That’s not exactly true. Jamie went behind her back and took care of most of this stuff. The business loan she received? He made sure it happened. Without him throwing his money around, I doubt it would have gone through.
She’s got a sizeable inheritance, but he won’t let her get anywhere near it. I’ve never understood it since Lyla isn’t irresponsible. She’s a grown woman. A woman I’d like to fuck.
“We’re just trying to look out for you,” I say. Sure, I want her keeping her distance, but I don’t want her spending every day pissed off at me either.
We make the rest of the nearly two-hour drive from Asheville to Mount Bliss in strained silence.
Every time I’m tempted to open my mouth and give her a reason to smile, I remind myself that things are better this way. She’ll keep her distance and I’ll keep jerking off to her social media posts and feeling like a dirty old man.
The snowflakes are getting bigger and they’re falling faster as we pass the welcome sign for the town.
“Is the snow always like this here?” She asks, gathering her hair up into a ponytail and filling the cab of my truck with the sweet scent of cotton candy. It’s a smell and taste I’ll always associate with her.
“First snowstorm of the season,” I explain, flicking my wiper blades on faster. “It’s here hours earlier than expected though.”
Her phone rings, and she frowns. “That’s the bed and breakfast in town.”
There’s no privacy in the cab of my truck, so it doesn’t take much for me to follow along with the conversation. Winnie is telling Lyla that a pipe burst at the B & B thanks to the falling temperatures and her room has flooded.
She thanks the older woman for letting her know before she hangs up. Blowing out a breath, she asks, “I take it that was the only inn in town?”