Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
He doesn’t seem to care if he ever breathes again because he presses soft kisses to my jaw and neck, licking my skin like he can’t get enough of my taste. His words are a strangled whisper, “You’re so sweet, my perfect treat.”
“I need to go for a run.”
He stops kissing me. When he lifts his gaze to mine, his pupils are blown, and his eyes are hooded. If I said the word, I think he’d carry me into his cabin, lay me out in his big bed, and feast for hours. “You want to run now?”
“It helps me think,” I murmur, wiggling against him so he’ll put me down. Big mistake. I just grinded down on his hardness, and it feels so good. What would it feel like to have him moving inside of me, making love to me slowly?
He puts me on my feet. “Then let’s go.”
“You’re going with me?” I repeat, not sure I’m understanding what he’s saying right. My thoughts feel so jumbled from that kiss. I need to sort them out. I need to make sure that I’m not making a mistake.
He steps to the pile of logs we haven’t split yet. He puts on his flannel shirt, not bothering to button it. “Which path do you prefer?”
“Do you think you can keep up with me?” The challenge is out of my mouth before I can stop it. He’s fit, but just because he’s in shape, it doesn’t mean he knows how to run. Although, judging by that kiss, there’s nothing wrong with his cardiovascular system.
The grin he gives me lets me know he enjoys a challenge just as much as I do. “This lumberjack can go all night long.”
Chapter 9
Sophie
I didn’t think I’d like running with someone else, but I like running with Whiskey. He keeps pace with me easily, and he doesn’t try to make conversation. Like me, I think he understands the need for solitude.
He doesn’t say a word, not even when I stop at mile four to down an entire bottle of water. A flock of geese fly overhead, calling out to each other on their migration. The temperature has dropped, the early evening air pricking at my skin. “You have more stamina than I thought you would.”
“All night long,” he reminds me, his voice dangerously low and sexy. Why did I stop kissing this man again? Nope, I do not need to be thinking about that.
I clear my throat. “Do you run a lot?”
“I would if I had a pretty running partner,” he answers easily.
“It helps me with the noise,” I explain, gesturing to my head. “Everyone thought I took up running to lose weight. But I just wanted to feel strong and in control again. Have you ever had a moment when you just felt completely powerless?”
He nods, and I think again of the shrapnel scars on his side. “Sorry. Stupid question. Let’s get back to running.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, the touch instantly soothing me. “You’re not powerless. You’re rebuilding after trauma. That takes courage and grit.”
I make a non-committal noise and crush my water bottle, stowing it away in running pack. I’m sure he’ll show me how to repurpose the plastic later. Mr. Live-off-the-Land has some pretty cool ideas about sustainability. My mom would love him. She reads all of these survivalist magazines to research storylines for her show. She’d love to see how Whiskey lives off the grid, a man that shuns modern civilization.
“You’re smiling,” he observes as we start on the path. We’re walking now, heading toward the cabin like we’re two lovers out on an evening stroll.
“I’m thinking about my mom. She’d love your lifestyle—the cabin, growing your own food, all of it,” I explain.
“Who knows? Maybe there are more cabins available for rent around here,” he says and there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“Did you ever figure out who rented it?” I know he thought some of his brothers were behind it, but he never told me if he discovered if it was one of them. I haven’t brought it up because I figure it’s a sore subject seeing as I sleep in his bed every night.
“If my brothers did it, they’re doing a heck of a job keeping it to themselves. According to Deputy Griffin, it would be a gross misuse of his department’s resources to try and trace who did this.” His tone is laced with indignation.
“Well, I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I answer, thinking of the upcoming 5K race. I’ll be gone in less than three weeks. The time is going by so quickly, and part of me wants to press pause on my life right now so I can stay a little longer and enjoy this.
“Don’t go rushing away. You paid for the full thirty days. I want to make sure you get every hour you were promised,” he says in a tone that doesn’t sound nearly annoyed enough for a man who has an unexpected roommate.