Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
A memory sparks in my mind from when I was thirteen and following him around the yard while he worked. I was too short to step over a fence, and instead of just going back to the house, I started screaming at the top of my lungs until Colt reached back, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me over like it was nothing.
He didn’t even speak. He didn’t even look at me, but my body remembered his touch for days. Even though I knew it was totally wrong and he was way too old for me.
I bet he doesn’t even remember it…
“I knew you’d be late getting here,” Colt says, his voice like gravel in the hot sun. “That behavior stops now.”
I blink. “Gee, it’s nice to see you again too, Colt.”
He drags his eyes up my body, sending a shiver through me that I desperately try to hide. His gaze halts briefly at the hem of my jean shorts, and I think I see his jaw clench.
Is he checking me out? He can’t be, can he?
Not with that expression. He looks like he’d rather I be anywhere but here. No, it’s more likely he’s thinking about how annoying I’m going to be by getting in the way of his normal routine.
“We start at dawn,” he says. “Make sure you’re not late.”
“Start what?” I ask.
“Work,” he replies simply. “Though judging by those shoes, you don’t know what the word even means.”
Well, Colt may have gotten ten times hotter, but he’s also ten times more of a dickhead. I guess that’s the tradeoff. Still, my eyes are drawn to the veins of his biceps. They look like they’re ready to rip through the skin. He’s built like a bodybuilder, but this isn’t some gym rat’s body to post on social media. This is a man whose been carved by work, sweat, sun, and long, hard days in the saddle.
And that’s a massive turn-on, even if he does clearly hate my guts.
“My shoes are cute,” I reply with a sassy shrug. “They’re expensive.”
His jaw ticks, and he looks down at them with those fierce blue eyes, like he’s disgusted by everything about me. “Not anymore they’re not.”
Then he turns his back on me and walks inside. The door remains open, which I take as an invitation and follow after him. “Dick…”
The inside of the house is warm and smells like thyme, garlic, and wheat. It’s rustic and lived-in but kept up and not a mess. I set my suitcase by the stairs and spot Colt over at the sink filling a glass of water from the tap.
He moves like he owns the place, but it’s my father’s name on the deed. God knows what would happen if I reminded him of that now.
Colt doesn’t even acknowledge me as I step into the living room. He just raises the glass to his lips and begins to drunk, his thick throat muscles flexing with every swallow. I try not to stare as he drinks–try and fail.
“So you’re my boss for the next month, eh?”
“Damn right I am,” he growls, setting the now-empty glass aside.
I nod slowly. “And…this work you’re going to make me do? What’s that exactly?”
Mimicking me, he shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever I damn well please.”
There’s that hot feeling flowing through my body again. This time it’s accompanied by tingles between my thighs. What is wrong with me? Why is it that this guy speaking like the most arrogant bastard alive is such a turn-on?
It’s harsh, dominant, bordering on bullying…
But I like it. And I shouldn’t.
“You better be nice to me,” I tell him. “Or I’ll just go home.”
Colt scoffs, shaking his head with something approximating a smile. “No, you won’t. Your dad told me not to let you run. If you try…” He lifts a long rope from a hook on the wall. It has a hoop at the end. “I’ll lasso you like a runaway mare.”
Now my body really reacts. Heat pools low in my belly, sending all kinds of wild sensations through my core. My cheeks go hot, and I shake my hair into my face to disguise the blush turning them red.
“So I’m a wild horse, am I?”
He walks slowly up to me, slips a finger beneath my chin, and lifts my eyes to his. Their blueness seems impossible. It’s like staring into the most gorgeous summer afternoon sky. “You might be,” he replies. “And you don’t want to find out how I break in wild things, missy. Trust me.”
If this were a movie, this would be the moment where I slap him or spit in his face. Or at the least turn my back on him and walk out.
But my legs simply will not move. My lips part, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe. His eyes burn into me like molten lava, and when he finally steps back, I manage to gasp for air.