Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Now, can you wrap your arms around his neck?” Vega asks in her good cop voice.
I comply, my hands circling Banks, my fingers brushing against the ends of his hair. A whimper falls from my lips as I touch the man I want. It’s like the rest of the crew disappears, and it’s us in the lavender fields, escaping for a stolen kiss—since I’m rising on my tiptoes and brushing my lips to his.
When I let go, everyone’s clapping. “That was perfect,” Vega says, with a quick clap. “You went the distance, and I’m so appreciative. We have what we need.”
They let us go, and I hastily excuse myself, beelining for the cottage, away from everyone.
I shut the door and move to the wall next to it. I try to catch my breath, waving a hand in front of me to cool off. A minute later, Banks is here, opening the door. He doesn’t say a word—just hauls me against him and devours my lips.
It’s a wild, frantic kiss that will lead to one place only.
Before I know it, I’m up against the wall, shorts off, panties gone. After he grabs a condom, Banks is thrusting into me, fucking me hard and mercilessly, just the way I like it with him.
I’m panting and moaning, my noises growing louder with each pump of his hips.
“Banks,” I murmur.
“Quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking the stand-in.”
“No. The stand-in is fucking me,” I correct.
“Damn right he is,” Banks says, then covers my mouth with his big hand. “Quiet.”
My eyes widen as I nod, urging him to clamp his hand tighter.
He holds my hip tight, too, his fingers leaving marks as he drives into me until I lose my mind, falling apart in his arms. A few seconds later, he follows me there with a bitten-off groan.
We slump against the wall, sweaty and panting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m grabbing bouquets of flowers for my morning delivery. I like this stand-in life very much.
35
A GIRLFRIEND QUESTION
RIPLEY
It’s working. The number of inquiries about having picnics is up. Sales at the online store of lavender pillows, lotions, oils, and soap are slowly rising. Plus, the Darling Springs mayor herself reached out to see if the town could promote tours of the lavender farm and its maze on its site. Yes, please!
All thanks to the advance buzz from the shoot. Several days later, on Wednesday morning, I mention all this to Grandma as we make breakfast for the crew early in the day. “I’ll be able to send you to Paris in no time,” I tell her.
“I love that you even think about that. But you really shouldn’t worry about me. I can probably find a way to do it on my own.”
I meet her gaze straight on, brooking no argument. “I want to. You did so much for us.”
“And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
“Which is why I want to do this,” I say.
“So stubborn. Just like your mother.”
I smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” When I leave the kitchen to tend to farm tasks, she returns to her French app, practicing how to say I would like a baguette.
“Now that’s useful,” I call from the door.
The next day, as the crew shoots in the lavender fields again, I tell Banks about the upticks, too, as we visit customers, then stop at Josiah’s Hardware to pick up some items I need for the farm. “I guess I don’t mind all the photos after all. Even the ones of me. They seem to be helping us. So I can’t really complain,” I say, waving to Josiah at the counter and to his fickle orange cat.
“Good to see you, Ripley,” he says.
“How are the fish? Were they biting this weekend?” I ask.
“Caught a couple trout. Grilled them to perfection,” he says, and I smile, remembering the times he did that with my dad when I was younger.
“Bet they were delish,” I say, even though I don’t eat fish or meat. But I’m glad he enjoyed his meal.
“They were. Henry would have loved them,” he says, and I smile.
Then Banks and I turn down an aisle of gardening supplies.
“I’m really happy to hear it’s all working out,” Banks says as we return to our earlier convo.
“Thanks. Me too,” I say as I hunt for a new bulb planter. “I wouldn’t exactly say the farm was struggling before, but it wasn’t a money tree either.”
His lips quirk up. “Can you grow those?”
“I wish,” I say, laughing as I spot the planter I want. I grab it, then set it in the red basket Banks has been holding.
“If you find the seeds, let me know. So far, it’s hard work and hustle.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I say. “Back when my parents did this, I had no idea what went into running a farm, from the insurance to the equipment, to the management, to the employees.”