Where We Bloom (The Blackwells of Montana #3) Read Online Kristen Proby

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic Tags Authors: Series: The Blackwells of Montana Series by Kristen Proby
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Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
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Her eyes drag down my torso, down my legs, and I smirk when they find mine again.

“I like it when you’re dressed like this,” she admits.

“Like what, bumble?”

“Casual.”

“Why is that?”

She bites that lip, and I don’t think she’s going to answer, but finally, she says, “Because your arms are fucking delicious in a T-shirt. There. I said it.”

I laugh as I pull her against me for a hug, wrapping the arms she seems to like around her and squeezing her close as I plant my lips on the top of her head, enjoying how she fits against me.

“Come on, then,” I say as I lead her to the Jeep. “Let’s go.”

I get her buckled in, the cage door closed, and then I circle the car and hop in behind the wheel.

“It’s a long drive,” I inform her. “Are you comfortable?”

She frowns over at me. “How long?”

“All day.”

Now her eyebrows climb. “Where are we going? Canada?”

I grin and don’t stop myself from reaching out to drag the back of my fingers down her cheek.

I’m letting go today.

I’m indulging in my need for her.

And based on the way she leans into my touch, she’s here for it.

“No, not Canada. Just a long drive. I want to be with you today. Just you. No noise, no other people, just you on this pretty day.”

She tips her head, examining me, then nods. “That sounds really nice. And I promise not to fall asleep.”

With a laugh, I start the engine and pull out of her driveway.

“You won’t offend me if you fall asleep.”

“I’ll offend me. I don’t want to miss this. Besides, it’s a nice day, and there will be lots to see.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Once I’m on the highway leading us out of town, I rest my elbow on the center console and open my hand, waiting.

Without hesitating, Billie leans in, threads her fingers through mine, and holds on.

And we stay like this as we drive a couple of hours out of town. She points out a herd of elk. The wind whips around us, and it’s too loud to have a conversation, but that’s okay.

The quiet between us is comfortable, and she's smiling each time I glance her way.

Thank Christ, this was a good idea.

It’s close to noon when I turn off the highway near Flathead Lake and drive us close to the shoreline, with a view of the mountains beyond. I park facing the water and cut the engine. We sit in silence for a moment, taking in the breathtaking view of the lake and the mountains.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” she says softly and takes a deep breath. The roof on the Jeep gives us valuable shade, but there’s a nice breeze blowing through to keep us cool. “My parents brought us here a couple of times to go camping, which I thought was so silly.”

“Why silly?”

She reaches for my hand, and I feel everything in me go still.

I’m always the one to reach for her. She never initiates physical contact with me, so seeing her hand reach out for mine has my heart hammering.

“For a couple of reasons,” she continues as if she didn’t just turn my life upside down. “First of all, we literally live in the woods. We could walk twenty feet and go camping.”

“Do you enjoy camping?”

She wrinkles her nose. “And that’s number two. I hate camping. Spend the day outside, doing whatever? Fine. I can do that. But I do not ever want to sleep outside.”

“I don’t either.”

She looks my way, her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Aye, I have a perfectly good bed to sleep in at night.”

“Exactly.” She nods once. “Also, I know this makes me sound, I don’t know, weak maybe⁠—”

“You’re not weak.”

“But I don’t like getting dirty. I didn’t enjoy living on a farm. It’s sweaty, dirty work, and I don’t like it. My brother can have it.”

“That’s not weak,” I reply, rubbing my thumb in a circle against her soft skin. “I don’t particularly enjoy dirty work, either. I work my arse off, but I don’t get filthy while doing it.”

“Same.” She sighs and leans her head back on the seat. “Oh, I forgot my water bottle at home.”

“Here.” I let go of her hand and open one of the coolers in the back, pulling out a bottle of water for her, and she wrinkles that nose again. “What is it?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“No.” I pull the bottle out of her reach. “You made your disgusted face.”

“I don’t have a disgusted face.”

“Aye, you do, bumble. And you made it. Tell me why.”

“I just don’t love that particular brand of water, that’s all. But I’ll drink it because I’m thirsty.”

“It’s just water.”

Her eyes go wide as I crack the top for her and pass it over.

“No. That’s where you’re wrong. All of the different brands of water taste different. Haven’t you noticed that?”


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