Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I think there are some boards in the shed, actually. I’ve been meaning to go through everything, but there’s enough to do inside the house where it isn’t full of bugs and spider webs. Here, I’ll show you.” I pick my way across the lawn carefully. The back half of the yard I’ve let grow wild, aside from cutting a path to be able to get to the mower and tools.
“Was surprised to see you at the party last night,” he says softly from behind me. “I didn’t think it would be your sort of scene.”
“You think you know my scene?”
His laugh is low and sexy. “Let’s see. You’re smart, pretty and an author, living in this place on your own. I bet you graduated at the top of your class and went to some fancy liberal arts college.”
“Uh, that’s very flattering, but no and no.” I pull the useless rusted lock off the shed. It’s really only there to keep the doors from swinging open. “See? Up there under the ceiling there’s a bunch of old lumber and stuff.”
A warm hand lands on my hip. “Hm, when Dragon and Blackout are back from gate duty we can go through this and see if there’s anything usable.”
“Sure, whatever’s in here is up for grabs.”
He’s standing so close it’s hard to think, and I move too quickly, catching my foot on a paint can. I reach out, grabbing for him to steady myself as he moves to catch me. We crash awkwardly together and I end up pulling him over with me. A strong arm goes around my waist, pulling me close to his chest, and he catches us both with his other hand, slamming it right into the wall full of random tools and odds and ends that my grandparents collected over the years.
“Shit!” He bites out, grimacing and pulling his hand to himself after we’re standing again.
“Let me see!” I grab his hand and yank it to me, turning his palm my way and prying his fingers open to reveal a nasty gash.
He sucks air through his teeth, hissing. “It’s fine. I’ll clean it up when I get back.”
“Come on.” Getting a grip on his wrist, at least as far around it as I can reach, I pull him towards the house.
“It’s just a cut, Willow. Doesn’t even need sewing up.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a big tough man. I’m very impressed.” I roll my eyes. “I have a sink and first aid stuff right here. Don’t be stubborn.”
He chuckles, but lets me lead him. “If you want to play doctor, I don’t mind. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Inside, he seems more curious about the house than with his bleeding hand. “Have you changed anything since you moved in? Or is this all your grandmother’s stuff still?”
“What? You don’t think I picked out the chicken wallpaper border myself?” I leave him on a chair in the kitchen while I go to get supplies from the bathroom. “Do you want a dinosaur bandage, or pink hearts?”
“You know. I think it’s stopped bleeding already,” he calls out.
“Pick!”
After a moment of thought, he rumbles back, “Dinosaurs.” He sounds so certain I can't help chuckle at it. Typical boy.
I pull over a chair and scoot it up until my knees are right between his and his hand is in my lap. He sucks in sharp air again when I wipe a washcloth over the cut but doesn’t complain. I don’t see anything nasty in there, and it isn’t very deep, so I spray it down with antiseptic and wipe off the excess moisture before applying the bandage.
“I could do this myself, you know,” he says softly.
“It's easier with two hands.” I turn his hand over in mine, letting my fingers play over the backs of his knuckles. There’s dried blood between his fingers. “How did you manage that?” I clean his whole hand with the washcloth, frowning when it takes work to remove it all.
“Don’t know.” He gently pulls his hand back and hooks his index finger under my chin, making me look up at him. Despite his rough hands, it's a soft touch. It leaves me looking right into the blue pools of his eyes, so easy to drown in. His lips quirk into a mischievous crooked smile.
A thick, liquid heat settles between my thighs as last night makes a triumphant return in my mind.
“There she is,” he says, his deep voice raising goosebumps down my arms. “The girl from last night.” He leans in, not letting me lower my chin, so that our lips can't be more than an inch or two apart. I swallow hard, nervous, but not wanting him to pull away.
“I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah you do.” His breath is hot against my cheek. Everywhere we touch is burning up.