Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
I shrugged. The house wasn’t meant to be beautiful. It was meant to be safe—thick walls, clear exits, and everything stripped down to what mattered. But I liked that she saw something else in it.
When I parked and cut the engine, the sudden quiet felt heavy. Only the surf in the distance broke the silence, rolling against the sand in deep, steady pulses.
I climbed out and went around to open her door. She slid down, her sneakers hitting the gravel with a soft crunch. The wind lifted her hair, brushing strands across her cheek, and before I could catch myself, I tucked them back behind her ear. Shit. Spinning around before she could react, I marched to the front of the house.
We had a caretaker who lived not too far away. He kept the place clean and ensured the security measures were in working order, making it ready for use whenever needed.
The living room opened into a small kitchen and a short hall leading to the back. The wood floors were pale, the walls sand-colored, and the furniture was a soft blue. Everything was neat, simple, and clean.
Alanna was staring at the single bedroom visible through the open door in the hall. “Um, is there another room hiding here somewhere?”
“Nope.” I set my bag down beside the couch.
Alanna’s eyes drifted to the sofa—a narrow, battered thing that had seen better decades. “Where am I sleeping?”
I jerked my chin toward the bedroom. “You take the bed.”
She turned to face me, crossing her arms. “Then where are you sleeping?”
“Couch.”
Her brow arched. “Bullshit.”
That earned a slow lift of my eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You won’t fit on that thing.” She gestured at the piece of furniture as if it had personally offended her. “And I’ll feel terrible when you wake up twisted into a pretzel with all your knots and kinks.”
For the first time since we’d left the clubhouse, a spark of humor tried to break through the tension pressing against my ribs.
I held back a smile. Instead, I shook my head and leaned a shoulder against the wall, my arms folded over my chest. “I’ll live.”
“Not comfortably,” she muttered, still glaring at the couch like it was the enemy.
“Comfort’s overrated.”
Her lips twitched, like she wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy. The silence stretched between us again, heavy and warm, filled with the faint sound of waves and the steady creak of the old house settling around us. It was comfortable, but the tension was building. Soon it would be thick enough to cut with a knife.
Eventually, she sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m going to take a shower. Maybe a nap after.” Her voice was soft, careful. “What am I supposed to change into?”
I moved toward the duffel I’d dropped and unzipped it. “Here.” I grabbed one of my clean T-shirts and a pair of cutoff sweats—shorts for me, damn near pajamas on her—and tossed them over. “They’ll do for now.”
She caught them against her chest, her gaze flicking from the clothes to me. “Thanks.”
My head tilted in a gesture of acknowledgment, and she disappeared down the short hall, the bathroom door clicking shut a moment later. Water hit the pipes a few seconds after that, its rush cutting through the stillness.
Dropping onto the couch, I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at the blank TV. The sound of the shower carried through the quiet house, muted but clear. My mind betrayed me, painting pictures I shouldn’t be seeing—steam curling around her bare shoulders, soap sliding down soft skin, and water beading along the curve of her neck.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my attention anywhere else. Counting the ticks of the clock hanging on the wall. Breathing in the smell of salt through the cracked window while trying not to notice the faint smell of vanilla mixed into it. Focusing on anything but the image of her naked and wet behind that flimsy door.
By the time I heard the water shut off, my pulse was thundering in my chest. I rubbed a hand over my jaw, reminding myself to breathe.
Then the door opened, steam billowing out before she appeared, like yet another fantasy I didn’t know I had come true.
Every part of me went tense. Hard.
Damp hair trailed down her back, my T-shirt clung to her curves and hung just low enough to make my thoughts turn dark. The cutoffs hit mid-knee, the waistband cinched tight, the drawstring bow sitting right above the dip of her stomach. Her feet were bare with pretty purple tips. I wasn’t sure when I’d begun to find feet sexy, but they were only adding to the state of my body.
The clothes were nothing special. They shouldn’t have affected me the way they did. But they were mine, and seeing her in them did something to me—something primal. Something that threatened to break my control.