Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
It’s close to midnight, and it’s snowing again. Small flakes drift lazily down from the sky, catching silver in the light of the high, bright moon. My boots crunch on the old ice underneath as I cross the yard on quick feet, and my heart beats faster with every step toward Tad Hanson’s house.
I should feel ridiculous. Or guilty. Or at least hesitant. But instead, I am excited. Thrill and passion and impulsivity commingle in newness, challenging me to explore a different side of the woman I’ve always been.
For the first time in years, I’m not the girl with the 4.0 GPA, the gallery director who gave up her twenties and almost all of her thirties to keep her family’s empire afloat, and I’m not the Bishop who got erased in the end anyway.
I’m not thinking about responsibilities or legacy or how my life looks on paper. I’m taking action, reveling in instant gratification, and toying with the idea that I could be someone entirely different if I wanted to be.
Knuckles poised at Tad’s wooden door, I startle when it swings open before I make contact.
Tad’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and his slightly damp hair curls a little at the edges.
He grins at me like I’m both expected and surprising, which only makes my pulse race faster.
“Well,” he says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his legs at the ankles. “And here I thought I’d be spending the night alone.”
I smirk, brushing past him into the warmth of the house, turning my neck to taunt him over my shoulder. “That’s funny because I came over to fix that problem for you.”
“Generous,” he drawls, shutting the door behind me.
“Don’t get cocky.” I shrug off my coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. “You just so happen to be conveniently located.”
“Conveniently located?” His laugh is low and amused. “Careful, baby, it’s counterproductive to shoot a man’s horse before you expect him to gallop.”
I glance at him, at the way his shirt clings to his shoulders and the way he’s watching me like I’m the only thing in the room worth noticing. “Fine. You’ve also met certain performance qualifications. But don’t read too much into it.”
He steps closer, slow and steady, until the air hums with quickly dwindling space. His eyes lock on mine, and his easy smile tilts sharper. “See, that’s where you’ve got it backward, Breezy. I plan on reading every damn inch of you.”
My pulse trips, betraying the cool girl I’m trying to project.
When his hand brushes up my neck, his grip on my chin firm and sexy in a way that shows he wants to be in control, my whole body tenses. “And I know you want it. Because you came here,” he murmurs. “Not the other way around.”
“And?” I don’t break eye contact. “You’d rather be spending the night alone?”
“Not even a little bit.” He dances his fingers along my jaw, and his grin softens into something hungrier.
And then, his mouth is on mine.
His lips take and claim, and for once, I don’t want to be the one in charge; I want him to make me feel something.
The kiss steals my breath, not because it’s rough but because it’s certain. He’s leading, and I’m following, and it’s a relief to have someone else running the show.
My entire life has been about control. Everything planned, perfected, and polished. But Tad takes the reins without asking, and instead of resisting, I fucking melt.
His mouth is sure on mine, steady and unhurried, and it has me unraveling faster than I want to admit. By the time he threads his fingers through mine and leads me down the hall, my heart is all the way up in my throat.
His bedroom is dark except for the wash of moonlight spilling across the floor and the small lamp on the nightstand creating golden shadows on the wall.
He doesn’t rush. He stops in front of me, hands sliding down my arms until his palms rest at my hips.
His bedroom smells faintly of cedar and soap, the kind of simple, masculine scent that makes me dizzy before he even touches me. The low lamplight paints him in warm yellow, catching the edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth.
Tad steps closer, but his movements are deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to undo me. His knuckles skim my jaw, tracing down my throat, and the sensation sends a shiver through me I don’t even try to hide.
“What do you want, Breezy?” he asks me, and for the first time in my outspoken life, I can’t form words. But it doesn’t matter because he answers for me. “Right now,” he says, eyes burning into mine, “I want to fucking lose myself in you.”
The words land heavy and hot, knocking the air out of me. Not a promise. Not a lie. Just raw truth.