Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“You think he wanted you to give her painting a good home?” Kane asks.
“I mean, probably. It couldn’t hurt. But I don’t think this is everything.” I brush my fingers over the gold frame, feeling this odd longing. “I wish I’d known her. Things were never the same with this family after she was gone.”
He nods silently as he admires the painting.
“It felt familiar when I saw it. There’s another like this at my parents’ house.”
“Part of a series?”
“Could be. Mom still has a few here and there, hanging around the house. I should probably take this back to the fam.”
“Why don’t you ask your mom if she knows what you’re looking for? Might speed up the search,” he suggests.
His eyes scan my face as it heats.
Oh, if only it were that easy…
The truth makes my heart hurt, which isn’t new.
It’s been this way for as long as I remember.
“My mom and grandfather were pretty estranged before he died,” I say. “She wouldn’t know. She wanted nothing to do with him.”
“Harsh. I’m sorry,” he rumbles gently.
“But I bet she’d love this painting. It was her mother, after all.” I pick it up and tuck it under my arm. “At least we didn’t just get mummified in cobwebs for no reason. Sorry you wasted your time.”
“No waste if it’s important to you, duchess. We’ll keep looking.”
“Hopefully!” I snort.
“Don’t give up. If it takes effort, it must be worth it.”
Yeah, we’ll see.
I’ve had my doubts, but he could be right. Whatever Gramps left has to mean something if he decided to be this cryptic, right?
Right???
He knew me better than my own parents. Sometimes, it felt like my childhood was only real when I’d stay with him.
Losing him tore away a piece of my soul. Especially when he went out as stubbornly as he lived, hiding his illness until the bitter end.
We didn’t even get to say goodbye.
This summer was the first without him, and so many things have changed in less than a year since he’s been gone.
Mostly good things. Hattie and Ethan tying the knot, that was a huge happy surprise, and it’s all thanks to Gramps playing cupid from beyond the grave.
Unlike Ethan, I’m not getting a spouse out of this deal. No way.
For me, this is it.
The very last piece of him, and whatever’s hidden away was something he thought was important enough for me to have.
I desperately want to push through and find it.
Like maybe it will somehow shake me out of this slump with my designs, my life. My entire world after Leonidas Blackthorn.
I’m almost at the pull-down staircase when a loose board splinters.
“Whoa!”
I stumble.
Scream.
My foot pitches into the sinkhole, which makes me drop the painting.
And I’m bracing for a rough landing before my brain catches up.
The impact never comes.
Strong hands grab my waist, swinging me back up before I can face-plant on the floor.
There’s a huge wall of a chest in my face instead and a cloud of pine-scented man.
When I open my eyes, I’m safe in Kane’s arms.
He’s above me, scanning my face, breathing hard.
Holy shit.
“W-what was that?” My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips. My heart hammers like mad. My fingers tremble.
I’m lucky I didn’t break a few bones. That sinkhole could’ve snarled my ankle and sent me crashing down at a nasty angle.
“Loose board death trap,” he growls. “You’re lucky I was right behind you.”
No argument there.
I nod fiercely.
“You okay? Did you hurt your ankle?” He brushes stray hairs from my face. For such a big man, he moved like lightning, and now he’s so gentle as he holds me.
He envelops me, anchoring me to him with one big arm around my waist.
I’m trembling now for a different reason as adrenaline whips through my body.
“I’ll survive. Jesus, that was close,” I whisper with a shaky laugh. “I’m fine, just—how did you get here so fast?”
“I used to play hockey when I was younger.” His voice scrapes my spine like sandpaper, rough but reassuring.
My heart won’t slow down, even though the shock of my near-death experience has faded.
“Hockey? That explains a lot.”
He snorts. “Nothing special. It’s all muscle memory now.”
“Sweet. That must come in handy with saving clumsy women all the time.”
“No. Just you, duchess.” He gazes down at me with a hardness in his green eyes and, behind that, so much heat I shiver.
I could take that statement in so many awful directions, jokes and innuendo with devastating consequences.
But I don’t dare.
He hasn’t moved his hand from my waist. His free hand lingers in my hair, his thick fingers moving idly, gently tucking a loose strand behind my ear.
“Hockey,” I say again. I’m almost squeaking.
What a sight that must’ve been.
Kane Saint with his ridiculous height and barrel chest tearing across the ice.
I can see the hockey stick clenched in his hands, murder in his eyes as he confronts the other team.