Unbreakable Bond (Whiskey Men – Wounded Heroes #3) Read Online Hope Ford

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Tags Authors: Series: Whiskey Men - Wounded Heroes Series by Hope Ford
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Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
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I lean over and press my nose into the pillow, inhaling deeply. The scent of Kanan fills my nostrils, and I wish I could wrap myself in it. I won’t have him next to me, and this will probably be the closest I’ll ever get to having my dreams come true. Somehow, it’s going to have to be enough.

CHAPTER 5

KANAN

She’s taking a shower in the very next room. No matter how busy I try to keep myself, that’s all I can think about. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the water sliding down her body, the relief she feels from the hot spray.

I grit my teeth and shake my head, trying to get the thoughts out of my head. When I’ve straightened everything I can straighten, I sit at the table and unconsciously rub at the muscles on my arm. You can handle this, Kanan. Just do the right thing.

I jump off the chair and go in search of an extra sheet, blanket, and pillow. I’m making up the couch when the bedroom door opens. Don’t look. Don’t you fucking look.

I keep working on the couch and ask her, “Feel better?”

“Yes.” She moans. “I feel so much better.”

No matter how hard I try to not look, I have no choice. My eyes are drawn to her, but as soon as I see her, every muscle in my body constricts. She doesn’t realize the shift in the room because she moves over to the chair next to the couch I’ve now fallen in. She pulls her legs up under her, and all I can do is look at her.

She’s going on about how good the shower felt, and it’s not helping matters. I interrupt her. “You have anything else to wear?”

She looks down at her body, and I do the same. She has on short shorts and a tank top. Everything is covered. Heck, she would show less in a bathing suit, but I have no trouble imagining what she looks like under her clothes. When I first met Emerson, she was fifteen and a mission for me. I was supposed to save her. Normally, I never see the target again, but this was different.

I worked with her dad and got to know her. She grew up, and when she turned eighteen, it’s like something clicked inside me. I no longer saw her as the young girl I saved. She became a woman that I couldn’t keep my eyes or thoughts off of. But she’s one of my best friends’ daughters. She was off limits. I kept my distance from her anytime I’ve seen her through the years, but it hasn’t stopped me from thinking about her. All the times her dad talked about her, showed us pictures of her, and now here she is in my house, half-naked.

She’s looking at me with her mouth hanging open, but before she can hide it, I can see the hurt on her face. I get up from the couch and walk through the house into the bedroom. I jerk one of my T-shirts out of the closet, and with it clenched in my fist, I make my way back to her.

“Here. Put this on.”

She pulls the shirt from my hand and stands up. The tank top does nothing to hide her ample breasts or thick waist. I shouldn’t be looking, but all I can do is stand here, staring at her, challenging her with a look.

She puts the shirt over her head and pulls it down her body and glares at me. “Satisfied?”

I take a few steps back from her and just grunt because I’m anything but satisfied. I count to ten and then go into the kitchen and make her a sandwich.

When I walk back into the living room, she’s standing with her back to me, looking at the bookshelf. I stop mid-stride. Nope, this is not any better. I didn’t even pay attention to the shirt I gave her, but seeing my name on her back is like a shock to my system. She looks good wearing my name. The green shirt covers her, but the way the material stretches over her ass takes my breath away. “Here.”

She turns to look at me, and when she sees the sandwich, she smiles. “Oh God, Kanan. Thank you, I’m starving.”

I pull out the chair at the table for her and gesture for her to sit down. When she does, I shove her toward the table and then sit down next to her. The thought of her starving pisses me off, and so I sit here, glaring at her.

She lifts the sandwich to her mouth, but with one glance at me, she stops. “Uh, are you going to eat anything?”

“No,” I answer, shaking my head and then nod toward her plate. “Eat.”

She lifts the sandwich again, and all I can do is watch her. When she stops again, I lean toward her. “Emerson, eat your food.”


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