Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“That’s Midge’s thing. I prefer my art living. The Tetons…a night sky with no light pollution…a woman’s body.” She frowned and a smile stretched across my face. “Nice place.”
“One bedroom. I bought the smallest apartment in the best building I could afford.”
This night was looking better and better. “Verse and chapter from the Bible by Frank Blackstone?”
“Yep.”
Placing the remote on the coffee table, she turned. Her arms crossed, chin tilted up. An angry queen with rainbows on her pjs. Technically, my queen. Damn, she was beautiful. Unconventional. Unique. I discovered something new about her face every time I looked at her and the more I looked the more I found something to like.
“I’m sorry,” I stated, tone matter-of-fact. If she was expecting me to get my knees dirty, she’d be waiting forever. I didn’t grovel. Not in the past, not now, not ever.
“What exactly are you sorry for? That you exchanged a few years of freedom for your inheritance?”
“I deserved that, but you’re wrong. I didn’t do it for my inheritance. In fact, I told him to keep it when he tried that angle. I did it for the land.”
Her brow got a cute little wrinkle. “The land trust? That’s Frank’s baby.”
“Wrong again. That’s my baby. I asked him to set it up. And he threatened to break it apart and sell it if I didn’t fall in line…and you know, Dad doesn’t make empty threats.”
The look she gave me said she agreed. A beat later she crossed her arms and exchanged the commiserating expression for an accusatory one. “And?”
“And it was a stupid thing to do regardless…I apologize––I don’t respond well to blackmail.” Her face went blank again. Not a good sign. “And I’m screwing this up again. Let’s just say I’m sorry and that I regret what I did.”
Without remark, she marched past me into the kitchen and I followed.
“Want something to drink?”
A smile stretched across my face. “Sure.”
At the threshold, I leaned against the doorframe and watched as she reached up to grab a couple of glasses from inside the cabinet, her bare stomach getting my attention as the sweatshirt rode up. Then I spotted three trays overflowing with baked muffins and whatnot sitting on the counter.
“Ryan misses your muffins.”
That sounded grossly suggestive. Not what I’d intended, but she did that to me. Mixed me up, turned me inside out…Turned me on and had me questioning everything I thought I wanted. Like maybe my old man was right. Maybe I would enjoy marriage if I gave it a fighting chance.
Bending at the waist, she examined the contents of the refrigerator while I took my time appreciating the view. She bent lower and a different image slammed into me, an image of her sitting on the counter with her legs spread apart and her feet on my shoulders as I ate her muffin.
Jesus…
Straightening, I rubbed my face. This was not a good time for my dick to get hard. And yet they kept coming, wave after wave of sexual images, sounds, and smells. My mouth on a soft patch of blonde curls. The scent of woman filling my lungs. The soft skin on the inside of her thighs brushing my cheeks. I wondered what she sounded like when she came. If she was loud or quiet. I wondered if she––
“Beer or wine?”
I needed to get a handle on this. “Uh, beer. Beer’s good.”
“Glass?”
“No, thanks,” I mumbled, incapable of taking my eyes off of her.
I stepped closer and she handed me a bottle of Sam Adams, told me where to find the bottle opener. “Third drawer on the left,” she said.
I liked knowing that about her house. I wanted to know more. I’d been fighting her––or maybe it was myself I’d been fighting, who the hell knew anymore––for so long it felt good to just go with it. To let myself enjoy her company. It felt natural.
She opened one for herself, leaned her hip against the edge of the white marble countertop, and stared at me while she brought the bottle to her lips.
“You know…” I started, incapable of holding back anymore as the sexual tension between us reached fever pitch. There was every chance she’d shoot me down and yet it didn’t stop me from running my mouth. I had to have her and that’s all I could think about. “This marriage could be mutually beneficial in more ways than one.”
She blinked. “Are you for real? Or is this another one of your pranks? You and your father are so much alike sometimes it’s spooky.”
Warmth spread in my chest as I edged closer to her. “No more pranks. Scout’s honor.”
“Oh spare me, Scott. You were never a Boy Scout.” She huffed, chin tucked, staring at the bottle as she ran the pad of her thumb along the rim. Her voice grew softer. “I haven’t even forgiven you yet”––her gaze snapped up––“for being a dick.”