Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
This woman was my total undoing. I hadn’t been this fixated on a woman since I was a horny fucker in my twenties, but there was something about Sela that went beyond her beauty and her kindness. It went beyond this wicked chemistry that threatened to tear me into billions of pieces with no hope of being whole again. “I want you.”
She laughed. “I’m right here,” she moaned and nipped my earlobe again. “But we have a contest to win or lose.”
“Your confidence in us is really hot,” I teased and bracketed her hips with my arms. “Damn it, the butter is too warm.” It was soft beneath my palm.
“Well then, I guess we need to get it cold, which I guess means we have time?”
“I like the way you think,” I told her and grabbed the butter, tossing it back in the fridge before I stood in front of Sela, cupping her face and running my thumbs back and forth across her lips. I watched as her head tilted back and a soft sigh escaped between her full lips. “Sela.” I loved the way her name sounded, the way it tasted when it left my lips. I kissed her like the world was ending.
Chapter 9
Sela
My lips wouldn’t stop tingling. It didn’t matter that I was stirring a fruit sauce over low heat while half the town watched, and commented on, every shared gaze, every touch. My lips would not stop tingling. I felt Brock’s kisses everywhere. Even though the whole make-out session had been totally PG-rated, I felt as if his lips had marked my entire body.
Why were his kisses so addictive? And why did I lose all resolve when he was close? It was like he had some kind of good-sense blocker, so that the only thing I cared about was touching him, tasting him, and submitting to his kisses.
“Sela, the fruit is bubbling.” His deep voice whispered in my ear and sent a lightning bolt of lust straight through my body.
“Right, the fruit.” I ignored his low, amused chuckle.
“Honey, I’d be distracted too if that man was brushing up against me like that,” Edith said, drawing laughter from the crowd.
“What can I say,” I shot back with a smile I hoped didn’t show my heightened state of arousal, “a man who can cook pie is smokin’ hot, am I right?”
The crowd agreed in the form of hollers and whistles. “Next year we have to make this a shirtless competition for the men,” Edith suggested.
“And the women,” Mr. Halloran added indignantly. “Fair is fair.”
The old-timers bantered back and forth, serving as the perfect distraction while I helped Brock get the pies in the oven. “Do you think ten cherry pies is enough?”
He’d made cherry pies. For me. Damn it, I didn’t want to be affected by that, but I was. It was more than Adam had ever done for me, or any other man, honestly, which was really pathetic. Stop thinking about Adam. He doesn’t matter. “I hope ten is enough.” My eyes widened. “What if it’s not, and I lose by default?”
His lips curled into a slow smile as he leaned in close. “You won’t lose.”
I stood there frozen by his nearness, the scent of cherry on his breath, and the gleam in his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because I’m telling you not to lose. Go and win, Sela. Win.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that he couldn’t just order me to win, but his mouth was so close that my body shut down for a full minute. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” I managed to say in a breathless whisper.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” His lips were a breath away from my own, and I was certain he was about to kiss me.
“This match is mine, ladies!”
I took a step back. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
He nodded. “Later, then. Now go win. That’s an order.”
I turned away and headed to the long row of tables where the pies had already started to cool. Brock’s words still echoed in my ears. Later, then. He said those words, he’d actually said them. Out loud. How in the hell was I supposed to vanquish more pies than anyone else with that on my mind? I couldn’t focus on Mayor Stevens’ spiel about the contest, community, and Thanksgiving because I was too occupied with that promise of later.
What did it mean? That we’d pick up that kiss later? That later we would do more than kiss? More importantly, did I want to do more than kiss? Did I even want to kiss him again? Obviously, yes, which of course made it a terrible idea.
“Shake it off,” I whispered to myself and adjusted in my seat. I needed to focus on the pies. The warm, delicious cherry pies that Brock had made for me because I told him cherry was my favorite. Or because he wants to win. Both were equally possible. “Focus, damn it.” I looked left and then right, thankful I wasn’t behind—yet—and dove into the first pie as soon as the whistle blew.