Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Mine too.” Her heart leaped at her new name. She was well and truly his. “I just wish we had time for a honeymoon.” As it was, they were both on duty in the morning.
“Every night of our lives will be our honeymoon.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you deliciously, wonderfully happy.”
“You already do.” She glanced at her fingers as they trailed over the defined muscles of his arm. “When can we do that again?” The craving for him had only grown.
“Are you sore?” Concern filled his eyes.
“No.” Tender a bit, but not sore.
“Then right now.” He kissed her and started all over again.
Chapter Fifteen
Noah
Scarlett, my Scarlett,
How are you, my heart? Do you think you could bring the roses here? I hate to think you and Constance put in all that work just to leave it behind. I promise you, when we get to Colorado, I’ll build you a garden you never have to move from and a shady place to sit and write on sunny days. I’ll build your happiness with my own two hands. God, I miss you. Hopefully I’ll find us some digs in the next few days, because I’m losing my mind here without you. Kiss our sweet boy for me.
I love you with my entire soul,
Jameson
Use the opt-out.
That wasn’t going to happen. I signed a contract that I’d complete the book, and I would. But keeping my word meant getting closer to the only woman who made me want to kiss the shit out of her as she drove me up a wall.
This was dangerous territory, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Georgia had me just as knotted up about her as I was the damned book. The two were so closely intertwined that I couldn’t separate them. She was just as stubborn as Scarlett had been the first time Jameson met her, but unlike Jameson, I didn’t have a Constance to help me out.
Unlike Scarlett, Georgia had already had her trust and heart broken.
I was zero for two when it came to Georgia, and at an impasse when it came to the book.
Georgia was right. Scarlett wasn’t a character; she was a real person who had really loved Georgia. Given what I’d seen from her mother and the asshole ex, she might have been the only person in the world who had truly, unconditionally loved Georgia.
That’s what I kept in mind as I stood on Georgia’s front porch with one last pitch and an armful of what I hoped would be goodwill. I’d been in Colorado for two weeks, climbed two easy fourteeners, and as of yesterday, I had two plot lines ready to write. In a few days, I’d only have two months until my deadline.
“Hey,” she said with an awkward smile as she opened the door.
“Thanks for seeing me.” One day I would get used to those eyes knocking me off my feet, but today was not that day. Her hair was up, too, revealing the long line of her neck. I wanted to run my lips along the column, then— Knock it off.
“No problem, come on in.” She stepped back, and I walked through the door.
“This is for you.” I handed over the muslin-covered root ball carefully so she didn’t prick herself on the thorns of the plant above. “It’s an English tea rose, aptly named Scarlett Knight. I thought you might like it for the garden.” It was quite possibly the most awkward gift I’d ever given, but here I was giving it, because I somehow sensed that even a tiny blue box wouldn’t move this woman.
“Oh! Thank you.” She smiled, real and true as she took the plant, appraising it with a gardener’s eye. I knew that eye well. My mother had it. “It’s lovely.”
“You’re welcome.” My gaze skipped over the table in the entry, catching on the vase. The edges of the glass wave had the same frothy texture as the piece in New York. “You made this, didn’t you?”
Her attention shifted from the rosebush to the vase. “Yes. Right after I got back from Murano. I spent a summer apprenticing there after freshman year.”
“Wow. It’s remarkable.” How did someone capable of doing that just stop? And what kind of man married a woman with that kind of fire and then systematically snuffed it out?
“Thanks. I love that one.” A wistful look crossed her face.
“Do you miss it? Sculpting?”
“Lately.” She nodded. “I found the perfect space for a studio, but I can’t justify the cost.”
“You should. I’m sure you’d have no trouble selling pieces. Hell, I’d be your first customer.”
Her gaze jumped to mine, and there it was again, the indescribable connection that kept me up at night, thinking about her. “I should put this in the greenhouse.”
“I’ll come with,” I offered, swallowing back the ball of nerves that had worked its way up my throat like I was sixteen again.