Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Frankie—”
“I have to go, I’ll see you later.” She pulled her arm free and left.
Anger kept her muscles tight throughout the drive home. But by the time she got there, the anger had fizzled out. She was no longer pissed. She was tired. Weary. Sad. It seemed that no matter what move she made, there was someone she disappointed.
Any other time, she’d have shut herself in her studio and disappeared into her own world as she worked on her sculpture. While her hand was still sore, that wasn’t going to happen.
So instead she poured herself a glass of red wine and headed through the patio door, out onto the deck. The breeze was slightly chilly, so she flung some logs into the fire pit and then settled on one of the rocking chairs. She sighed at the feel of the sun-warmed wood at her back and the scents of woodsmoke, herbs, and fragrant flowers.
Yes, this was what she needed.
It was a pretty garden. Stepping-stone path, patches of colorful flowers, and plants growing in cute little planters. But she couldn’t take credit for it. The only real contributions she’d made were the sculptures and the mermaid fountain. It was Marcia who’d done the rest. Marcia who’d bought the magnolia tree, the wisteria on the trellis, and the flower boxes of mock orange, roses, and lily of the valley.
“Every woman needs a little sanctuary where she can relax,” Marcia had said.
Frankie had refrained from saying that her studio was her sanctuary, because she’d known that Marcia was trying to be nice. Known that Marcia wanted good things for her, wanted her to be happy, and wanted to find ways to connect with her.
She’d heard enough stories about her mother to know that Caroline and Marcia had shared some hobbies, like gardening, playing the piano, and listening to classical music. Marcia had no doubt hoped that her granddaughter would be much the same. Instead she’d ended up with someone who barely remembered to water plants (hence the sprinklers), who would rather play with metal and clay than a piano, and who enjoyed blasting rock music as she worked.
Really, Frankie felt bad that they didn’t share any interests. Just as she felt bad that she was at odds with Brad and her grandparents. They might not particularly understand her, but they did care for her. They did want her to be happy. They just wanted to be in control of what made her happy. And that made her wolf crazy.
Currently her wolf was in a shitty mood, which meant it probably wasn’t the best time for Frankie to be having negative thoughts. She needed to relax.
She cast a glance at the hot tub at the end of the deck. A dip in that might help . . . Maybe later.
Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes and soaked in her surroundings. All she could hear was the chirping of the birds, the gurgle of the fountain, the wood snapping in the pit, and the rhythmic creak of the chair as she rocked. Little by little, the tension in her body slipped away, and—
Frankie snapped awake at the knock on the front door. She blinked, surprised to realize she’d dozed off. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the sky had darkened a little.
Knuckles again rapped on the door. Sighing, she pushed to her feet. It was probably Geoffrey, she thought. When Marcia was unsuccessful in getting Frankie’s cooperation, he would often later come and try to “reason” with her. In other words, he’d try persuading her to back down.
But as Frankie swung open the front door, she found that it wasn’t Geoffrey. No. It was Trick, leaning one hip against the rail of her porch. Her wolf instantly perked up. As for Frankie . . . it was like her system took a long, relieved breath. “Why are you here?” she asked, though not unkindly.
He gave her a pitiful look. “I’m hungry. Feed me.”
“You’re not even kidding, are you?”
He pushed away from the rail and stalked forward. “I never joke about food.”
“I’m positive that if you went home, Grace would make you something.”
“But then I wouldn’t have your stimulating company or access to this amazing mouth.” Trick planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips. Tasting. Teasing. Possessing. He’d missed her. Barely knew her, really, but he’d missed her sultry voice, her secret smile, her quick humor, and her little mean streak.
Ending the kiss with a nip to her lip, Trick framed her face with his hands, drinking her in. That was when he noticed the lines of strain there. His hackles rose. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just been one of those days.”
Trick gently backed her into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t say ‘Nothing.’ Tell me. Get it out.”