Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
We’re suspended in our own little moment, this bubble of make-believe where being lovers feels natural. Not like two people pretending to be madly in love.
When she moistens her lips, the tip of her tongue just visible, I move faster, lightly grinding my palm to her skin.
Hell, maybe jazz was the wrong choice.
The sharp, upbeat sounds fuel the rising fire in my blood, the drumming urge that screams, kiss her, you fuck.
And maybe she wouldn’t mind it right now if I did—she’s not moving away, not doing anything, maybe not even breathing as her arms tighten around my neck.
My lips hover over hers.
A low moan slips out of her that makes me fucking feral.
I’m about to move in and claim what’s killing me—
Then the door opens.
Juniper breaks away so fast I have to help her catch her balance so she doesn’t fall on the floor.
It’s Archer this time.
Obviously, it’s Archer, glowering at me like I’ve broken a sacred commandment, with Colt standing partially behind him.
Shit.
Though maybe it’s for the best, considering I was atrociously close to feasting on my not-fiancée for dinner.
I switch off the jazz—what the hell was I thinking?—and practically speed walk Juniper out of the room.
“Time to go. You’ve already met the funny brother today,” I tell her as I pull her past Archer and his unblinking scowl. “Trust me, you don’t want to meet the devil.”
“But—”
“But our business here is done. If anything else comes up, you know where to find me. Keep me posted on that dinner.”
For a second, I feel a little bad about throwing her out like this, but it’s for her own damn good—and for mine.
I close the door and turn around to meet Archer’s glare from my office.
“Colt, how’s it hanging? Summer treating you well?” I give my nephew my best attempt at a smile. Not like he wanted to be mixed up with any of this.
“It’s all right, Uncle Dex. Can’t do much but read and hang out at the pool in this heat,” he says in that lazy way boys do when they’re teetering on adolescence. Colt shows me his manga comic—something I never got into with all the talking skeletons and steampunk drama—and sits obediently on the sofa when Archer points to it.
“Put on your headphones, bud. I need to talk to your uncle,” Archer says. He’s a coldhearted brute, my brother, but I’ll give him one thing—he never sets a bad example in front of Colt.
He also protects the kid from the three of us tearing at each other like deranged wolverines. I’m grateful for that.
Too bad it also means there’s a chance he’ll soon be severing my head from my neck.
Colt sends me a glance that tells me he knows exactly what’s going on before popping in his earbuds and turning his music up. Good kid.
“Just what the fuck was that?” Archer demands. He’s a couple inches taller than me, but I’m broader, so I just fold my arms and let him stride up to me and get in my face. “Patton said you were meeting with her here, but I didn’t think it was to canoodle.”
“Canoodle? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”
“This is not a game, Dex.” He grits his teeth. “This bullshit didn’t jibe with me from the beginning. You and Pat, you had the votes, so what could I do but give it a chance? Still. Throw me a goddamned bone. Prove to me I haven’t lost my mind for trusting you.”
“Yes, it was a vote, wasn’t it?” I remind him. “That’s what you get for having a democracy.”
Archer glowers, but even he can’t argue against the process when we set the company up. Fair’s fair.
“I’m quadruple-checking everything with Haute,” he says. “Don’t think it’s just you cleaning up your mess that has me concerned.”
“Arch, get a grip.” I roll my eyes and fling myself back in my chair behind the desk. I put my pen back in its holder. “The deal’s all but done except for the ink drying. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Sure, but that’s not everything.” Archer sits in the only remaining chair, the flash of anger gone. He’s back to talking business like a normal nonviolent human. “I need to know what the hell Haute really wants. He’s not asking for anything yet except a predictable cut of the profits. Didn’t even jack up the old Mill’s price, and you know how fast this market moves, especially in the summer.”
My entire job is knowing how the market is.
“Right. So far, his only input on running the property involves his damn sweets,” I say, frustrated that all things come back to Juniper Winkley.
How the fuck did I almost kiss her? What would have happened if my jackass brother hadn’t stomped through the door?
He runs a hand through his short dark hair.