Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Gabby didn’t even blink. “Definitely hotter.”
How was she so totally unaffected and completely calm?
And then she reached down and tugged the front of her tank top, using it to fan herself. With every little pull, the fabric stretched forward, giving me flashes—just enough to see the soft swell of her breasts and the delicate edge of a black lace bra cupping her skin.
I was officially in hell.
A sexy, humid, slow-burning kind of hell where every brush of skin and swing of her hips was one step closer to me losing my goddamn mind.
I tried to focus on the dishes and on anything that wasn’t her body, her mouth, her scent, her—
“Webb?”
My eyes snapped to hers. She was watching me over her shoulder, plate in hand like I hadn’t just been imagining what that lace would look like on my bedroom floor.
“You okay?” Gabby asked, her brow lifted.
I gave her a tight, polite, deeply restrained smile.
“Peachy.” I tried to sound as breezy as possible, but my voice was just a little too hoarse.
Because the thing about being tortured—it’s only unbearable when you want it this badly, and God help me, I did.
I took a few steps back from her like I was backing away from open flame. I needed space to breathe. Any type of distraction would work. The heat in the cabin was thick and sticky, curling around everything like steam, but it was nothing compared to the fire building in my chest every time Gabby moved. Every little shift of her hips, every swing of her ponytail, every offhand laugh—it was all winding me tighter by the second. And those shorts she was wearing? Jesus. It was torture, plain and simple, and I was a damn fool for pretending otherwise.
I tried to refocus on helping her clean the dishes and making sure she didn’t soak the old skillet in soapy water again. Still, even that was pushing the limits of my control, especially after the kiss we’d shared. That kiss had rattled something loose in me, and every time she looked at me like nothing had happened, it only made it worse.
Then, I noticed something missing. She didn’t have her gun on her.
I frowned and scanned the room, expecting to see it tucked somewhere nearby. But it wasn’t on the counter, the windowsill, or the edge of the pantry where she usually left it. My gaze dropped to her waist. It definitely wasn’t in the back of her shorts—there was no way I wouldn’t have noticed that—and the front wasn’t tugged or weighed down. Which meant she’d hidden it on her body somewhere.
“Where’s your gun?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
She barely glanced over her shoulder as she replied, “It’s on me.”
That answer didn’t help. In fact, it made things worse. Because now I was picturing every possible place it could be tucked—and every inch of skin I hadn’t yet had the privilege of seeing. And suddenly, it was no longer just about safety, it was about curiosity and heat. It was Gabby driving me out of my fucking mind without even trying.
I stepped in behind her slowly and deliberately, closing the space between us. Her attention was on the plates she was stacking, unaware—or pretending to be oblivious—of the way my eyes traced every inch of her. My hand came up, dragging gently along the waistband of her shorts. She stilled, and my fingers slid over the soft dip of her side, firm and focused, searching for any sign of metal or weight. They encountered nothing.
I moved to the other side, slipping my hand up beneath the hem of her tank top and gliding it along her warm skin, which was flushed from the heat. Still no sign of the gun.
Leaning in close, I let my breath brush her ear, my mouth hovering just behind it as I murmured, “Where is it, baby?”
She inhaled sharply, her body tense against mine. She didn’t answer at first like the question had short-circuited her brain. “What?” she breathed out, sounding dazed.
I nuzzled her neck, my lips brushing the delicate skin there, and asked again, voice low and deliberate, “Where’s your gun?”
“I… forget,” she whispered, and it broke into something halfway between a confession and a breathless apology.
I laughed softly, the sound warm against her neck. I couldn’t help it. She’d forgotten. The woman who was supposed to be armed had stashed her weapon somewhere in the ether and left me chasing shadows on her body. I pressed a kiss behind her ear because, at that point, the only thing I could think was fuck it.
The moment the kiss landed, she spun in my arms with a speed that caught me off guard. Her hands found my shoulders and gripped tight, and before I could speak, she jumped. I caught her easily, my hands sliding to her thighs as her legs wrapped around my waist. And then she kissed me.