Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
His voice was smooth, light, teasing, and made infinitely more sexy by his accent, one that I was surrounded by daily and one that never got old.
Brent was the stuntman for the show we were working on. A local from ‘down South’ and the epitome of a rugged mountain man. I didn’t know if he was actually from the mountains, but he was the guy who came to mind when I thought of such men. He was criminally attractive with dirty blond hair, a permanent tan and muscles bulging from the sleeves of his tee that was so faded there was no logo on it anymore. He smiled easily and had an air about him that he could fix anything that broke down in the vicinity. Which he had done many times on set. His hands were callused, tanned and always stained with oil or dirt.
They couldn’t have been further from the hands that were neatly manicured, smooth, tanned and were more likely to be stained with blood than any kind of oil or dirt.
So theoretically, Brent was the healthiest and safest option for a rebound. Shit, Brent was husband material. The me before the arrangement, before him, wouldn’t have let Brent ask me out more than once. This was a man who you moved across oceans for.
In another life, at least.
“Raincheck,” I replied with a smile. The expression was forced, stretched and painful.
His brows furrowed ever so slightly. “You’re not gonna be able to say no to me forever, darlin.’” His tone was still teasing, but there was a roughness to it. A sexual undertone that had grown these past months. It started subtle, a glint in his eye when he spoke to me, the casual touches, the way he looked at me. It had gotten more intense lately, with the wrap of the show looming.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, his attention. Wasn’t lecherous or sleazy. It would’ve been comforting if it hadn’t reminded me of everything I’d lost. Of what I’d never have again. That my ability to love a decent and kind man was fucked.
I smiled sadly. “Maybe not,” I agreed. “But tonight, I still can.” I winked at him and walked to my car.
His eyes burned into my back as I did so.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I pulled into the small space under the shade of a eucalyptus tree with lush green bushes to my left and a garden complete with a fountain and various stone statues on my right. I considered the limestone fairy I parked beside, with greenery crawling up her wings, as my friend. My guardian. Maybe I was going a bit insane? Then again, she hadn’t started talking to me or anything, so it wasn’t full-fledged lunacy. Not yet at least.
After the slam of my car door, there were no sounds aside from the low rumble of the waves. No roar of cars, no sirens, no neighbors. Sure, I was thirty minutes from town—town being the small metropolis of Killsmore that consisted of three great coffee shops, one supermarket and three pubs—and where most of the crew was staying, but I was right on the ocean. The small ‘bach’ I’d found online had somehow been vacant for the exact amount of time I needed it for. The closest neighbor was ten minutes down the dirt road I drove in on. When I’d first followed my GPS here, I’d frowned at the dust rising from the tires of my car, at the farmland around me, thinking I’d really fucked up and that I’d been catfished.
But then I’d pulled past the gates, ornate iron gates with plants curling around them. Drove down the winding drive edged with trees, carefully planted to hide the cottage away from the world, feeling like my private sanctuary.
Then the small house came into view. With a red corrugated roof and a porch that had grapevines climbing up it, making it look as if nature was taking over the house. Roses of every color were planted along the front with a porch swing to the right of the red front door. Large windows everywhere.
The front door opened right onto the ocean. Or that’s what it seemed like. The windows along the living room were floor to ceiling, barely any walls to obstruct the view of the beach and water beyond. Sapphire and aquamarine ... a different ocean than the one I’d looked upon on another continent. In another lifetime.
A different ocean that carried the same memories.
If I was a smart woman, one who wanted to heal, to forget, I would’ve left this beautiful paradise that reminded me of my wretched, painful past and found something else. Something that looked upon the hills, the landscape of New Zealand, something closer to town, closer to distraction. But I hadn’t. I’d closed the front door, walked across the tastefully decorated living room and opened the sliding doors, stepping onto the balcony and breathing in the salty sea air.