Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I leaned into the doorframe, lifting one arm to rest above me, the other hanging loose at my side. She was so close I could smell the sweet warmth of her perfume — something woodsy and dark, with a hint of citrus that made my mouth water.
“Damn, baby,” I murmured, letting the words roll out low and gruff.
I paused, eyes dragging over every inch of her again before I met her gaze, dead-on.
“You walk up lookin’ like that and the only thought in my head is how the hell I’m supposed to survive you.”
It took every ounce of willpower I had not to smirk in victory when I heard her breath hitch, when I saw her lips part just a centimeter as her eyes flicked between mine. When her gaze fell to my mouth, I knew I’d won.
“Better,” she breathed, and then tilted her head higher in defiance. “But try again. Less poetic. More… man.”
I leaned in just a breath closer, jaw tight, voice rough.
“Fuck, Liv,” I muttered, voice as raw as I felt inside. I shook my head, reaching out and hooking my finger through the belt loop of her shorts. “Look at you.”
She wet her lips. “Good.”
“Get in here. I need my hands on you.”
I punctuated that request with a slight tug on her belt loop, enough to have her leaning forward and into my space, to have my lips just barely brushing hers.
“Much better,” she breathed.
And then she shoved me away, making me stumble backward as she marched back inside and shut the door behind us.
I was still reeling from the electricity of the moment, blinking repeatedly as a laugh barreled out of me. But Livia was all the way inside now, making herself right at home as she poured us two glasses of wine and nodded toward Zamboni in his crate.
“Let him out,” she said.
“You sure?” I asked, hesitant as I made my way to the crate. “He’s just a pup still, pretty energetic. I’ve got him in a training school, but to be honest, he doesn’t listen worth a crap.”
Livia was completely unfazed, swirling her wine as she leaned a hand on the counter. “Open it.”
“Alright,” I said, grimacing internally at how I was fairly certain the next five minutes would go. I was picturing the chaos as I unlatched the door — the screaming, the jumping and scratching, the demand for me to put the damn dog in a bedroom somewhere as she half-crawled onto the countertop.
Zamboni bolted for her as soon as the latch was back.
“Zambo! No! Zambo, paws on the ground. Paws on the ground!”
I yelled after him as he darted for the kitchen.
But Livia didn’t budge.
She stood there with her wine in hand, hip cocked, expression schooled. And when Zamboni was a few feet away from her, bracing to pounce, she held up her palm.
“Stop.”
She said the word sharply, her voice low and firm.
And I’ll be fucking damned if that dog didn’t do exactly as she said.
He skidded to a stop, looking up at her with his tongue lolling out.
“Stay,” she said next, her fingers curling into a fist.
And he did.
“What in the witchcraft...” I muttered.
“Sit,” Livia commanded, and if I hadn’t seen Zamboni’s butt hit the ground with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Livia nodded her approval, then slowly walked toward the dog with her hand still rolled into that fist that meant stay. She held her hand out to his nose next, letting him sniff her, and then she smoothed her hand over his glossy coat in two long, gentle, rewarding strokes, scratching under his neck after the last one.
“Good boy,” she said. “Free.”
That seemed to release him, and instead of jumping up on her the way he had every other guest I’d had over since I adopted him, he turned and bounded into the living room, snatching one of his toys before plopping down in his dog bed and chewing away.
I blinked at her. “What the fuck was that?”
“You said he was in training,” she said with a shrug. “Do you not work with him here at home? Those are all the basic commands.”
“And you know this because you’ve had so many dogs in your life?”
“Just one,” she clipped. “My mother’s dog. And trust me, that asshole was all I needed to learn to assert dominance from the get-go with any animal.”
“Me included,” I said with a wink.
That earned me a chuckle that felt hard-won, and I slid up at the island next to her, grabbing the glass she’d poured for me before tilting it toward hers.
“To you, cowgirl.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said, even as she clinked her glass to mine and drank.
“If the hat fits,” I said, gesturing to her outfit.
“I was at a festival at Curtis Hixon Park with Maven,” she said in way of explanation.