Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“This place is too cute,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. I can see myself stretched out under the quilt thrown over the sofa—planning and plotting and putting things in motion.
I slip off my shoes and deposit my things on the console in the foyer. My wet clothes cling to my body, holding the chill against my bones.
I turn on every light I pass on my way to Astrid’s bedroom. Dad used to point out that turning the lights on only made my location clearer to the monsters I was afraid were chasing me from the kitchen to my room. Logically, that makes sense, but it’s a piece of logic I’ve never been able to use. I’ll trade immediate gratification that my surroundings are monster-free, even if it tips the predator-prey balance against me later.
“Where is the switch?” I whisper, sliding my hand around the wall of Astrid’s room. I nudge what I believe to be a picture frame before my fingers hit the lever. “There you are.”
I flick it upward, and a soft halogen glow paints the room. I spend no time appreciating the thick green bedding or the adorable picture of Gray and Astrid on the nightstand. It’s cold, I’m freezing, and the noise from the storm outside is crazy loud. Instead, I race to the closet and rifle through Astrid’s drawers until I find a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.
I tug off my socks and shove my jeans down my hips until they pool on the floor around my feet. Stepping out of them, I pull my sweatshirt over my head and drop it next to me. As I turn to grab the sweatpants, I catch a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror and pause. “Oh.”
My cheeks are rosy and my lips bright red from biting them while I drove. Neither surprises me after that wild trip. But what does shock me is the baby-blue lingerie Gianna forced me to buy because it matches my eyes. It’s been in my dresser for over a year, untouched. The bra is practically see-through, and the panties are so small that they’re pointless. But they are pretty, feminine, sexy—everything I’ve never been. Until now. Even if I have to fake it first.
I gather my damp, cold clothes from the floor and then round the corner in search of a hot shower. But I only make it two steps into the bedroom when my entire body freezes.
My scream pierces the air.
A tall, muscular, and very, very naked man stands on the other side of the bed. His eyes glued to me.
“Ah!”
CHAPTER
TWO
Brooks
“It worked,” I whisper, in awe of myself. “Holy shit.”
The practically naked blond bombshell, who somehow manifested her way straight from my brain into reality, is even hotter than I envisioned while in the shower. Full, teardrop-shaped tits. A dangerous curve of her hips. Thick thighs, plump lips, and a look so innocent that it’s downright angelic.
But angels usually sing, not scream.
“Is there a reason you’re screaming?” I ask loud enough for her to possibly hear me over her own voice.
She stumbles backward, her chest heaving. A pile of wet clothes falls from her hands and plops onto the carpet. I have so many questions.
“I … I have a taser,” she stammers.
Even if that were true, and it’s not, her sweet voice makes it clear that she wouldn’t use it. She might brandish it and give it a little shake, but she’s not zapping anyone. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying.” She gulps, her bright blue eyes wide. “I have one. You better be scared, buster.”
Buster? My lips twist to keep from laughing. “Well, you must either be a magician or very, very talented. Either way, I’m riveted.”
“What do you mean?”
I smirk, letting my gaze drag down her delicious body. “Because you’re either going to make it appear out of thin air or pull it out of your—”
She shrieks again, one hand stretching across her chest and the other darting across her lower half as if she just remembered she’s essentially naked. “Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.” She bends and scoops up her clothing. Her hands tremble as she grips the fabric and then stands. “This is not happening,” she groans.
Something is most definitely happening. I’m just not sure what it is.
Is she a fight fan with a crush? A lost traveler? Or is she here to rob the place—a burglar with a strange MO?
Those are the only real options. The fight fan situation has happened a few times, and I won’t be mad about it if that’s what I’m dealing with tonight. If she’s a lost traveler, she’s really fucking lost because this cabin is in the middle of Blackbird Ranch. That leaves burglary.
I take another glance at that hot body and hiss a breath.
If she’s a thief, I’m leaving all my doors unlocked from now on.