Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
He takes my hand and leads me down the path that seems to meander by the cliffs, away from the house.
“Aside from the classics, I also enjoy Outlander, yet among modern work, I don’t know. It’s so hard to choose.”
“Favorite authors, then?” he asks, and again, I have to bite my lip and think.
“I’d have to narrow it down to about ten.” I shrug when he laughs. “You don’t understand. There are so many gifted authors, and I consume a lot of books. Devney Perry and Monica Murphy are two of my favorites. They’re auto buys for me.”
He nods, and now I’m curious.
“What about you? What do you like to read?”
“I don’t have a lot of time to read for pleasure.”
“Bullshit.” There’s no sting in my words as I nudge him with my shoulder.
He kicks up an eyebrow, and I shrug. “We all have time. We just choose to use it in different ways, which is totally valid. And you are a busy man. But you’re not working twenty-four seven.”
“I’d rather spend any free time I might have with you,” he says.
“And sometimes, I’m reading while you’re spending time with me.” I chuckle and lean into him, enjoying him and our walk by the cliffs. “Not everyone has to be a reader. But you do have all of those books in the bedroom.”
“I read thrillers and a little fantasy here and there. I also consume a lot of online articles,” he says, thinking it over. “Podcasts. That sort of thing.”
“I’ll listen to podcasts with you.”
We stop in the middle of the path, and he gently grips the back of my neck in his palm, bringing his face closer to mine.
“Would you then, bumble?”
“Sure.” Christ, I love it that his accent is thicker when we’re here in Ireland.
“And why is that?”
“Because I love you, and spending time with you is my favorite thing.”
His face softens, and he leans in to brush his lips over mine, making my stomach clench with desire.
“You’re so bleedin’ sweet,” he whispers against my lips, the words almost getting lost in the wind.
“You’re different here,” I reply, watching him closely.
“How so?”
“You’re always wonderful, but I notice you’re not as tense here. You’re calmer. A little quicker to smile.”
He stands up straight and glances over my head at the property, the house farther away now, and then out at the water. After taking a breath, he turns his gaze back to me and cups my face.
“This is home. It’s familiar and where I can be myself. That’s why I wanted to bring you here, to spend a good amount of time with you.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
“At least three months ago. Maybe more.”
What?
“Connor, if this is where you’re the most at home, why don’t you live here more often?”
“Because you’re not here, angel.” He rests his lips on my forehead and takes in a breath. “I want to be wherever you are, and Montana is home for you. Montana is where we bloom together, and I do love it there. I would say that aside from this place, it’s where I’m most at home because you’re my home.”
This man and his amazing way with words.
“I want you to be happy.”
Now, he wraps me in his arms, palms the back of my head, and holds me to him, embracing me so tenderly and lovingly, it brings tears to my eyes.
“I’m so fucking happy, a ghrá.” He kisses the top of my head, and then he leads me back toward the house.
“Well, for the record, I like it here a lot.”
“I want to show you the world.”
“Let me be clear.” I pull him to a stop so I have his undivided attention. “I’ve been out here for about an hour, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that it’s incredible. I don’t need the world. If this is waiting for us, I’ll come here with you anytime. Once a month? Let’s do it. I—”
I don’t get another word out before he’s on me, kissing me as if I’m the air he breathes, holding on to me as if the mere thought of letting go will tear his heart from his chest.
“Hold this,” he says, pushing his mug in my free hand. Then I’m in his arms, giggling as he carries me to the house. “I’d fuck you right out here, but I have security cameras, and Miller and his team keep an eye out.”
“I’d rather not put on a show for Miller and Simon,” I agree, pressing my face to his warm neck. “And I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Almost there,” he replies, not even breathing hard.
How does he do this? Carry me as if I’m nothing more than a sack of potatoes?
He pushes into the house through the glass doors. The next thing I know, I’m sitting on the kitchen counter, and Connor is stripping me out of my clothes, kissing every piece of my skin as he uncovers it. “I woke up wanting you, and you weren’t there.”