Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Once we’re on board, he takes the jump seat and shuts himself away in the cockpit with the pilots. I find a seat, knowing that when he comes out, he’ll want to sit as far away from me as possible.
No objection.
But my nose stings a little as I force a smile at the nice flight attendant who brings me a menu with small snacks and sandwiches and tells me to let her know if there’s anything I need. She mentions something about delays back in Portland, which might add an extra hour to the flight until we can land.
I thank her and prepare to nap, leaning back against the seat.
As I predicted, Holden sits as far away from me as possible once he emerges, occasionally tapping on his laptop.
I drift off restlessly, only waking up when we land a couple hours later with a slight bump. To my relief, my headache fades.
Holden remains a world away on the other side of the cabin.
I glug down another small water bottle and brace for another awkward ride back to Gramps’ empty mansion.
There’s a bright moon rising as we deboard and he gets his car. His strong hands clench the steering wheel until his knuckles bulge.
I try not to stare at those punishing hands. I really do. I don’t need a reminder of what they can do.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Mm, yeah. I got a nap in.”
“Good call.”
I wonder if he’s just relieved I passed out so he didn’t have to deal with me and this tense, needle-coated wall of silence between us. So he didn’t have to think about the annoying little girl who baited him into a colossal mistake.
Frustration stirs angry butterflies in my belly.
Neither of us say another word on the ride back to the house. With a werewolf moon high overhead and the eerily calm water offshore, Gramps’ old place feels completely vacant like never before.
The second we’re through the door, Holden immediately carries the egg down to the basement vault. I wander up to my room.
Then I pull out my sketch pad and go to work, attacking the blank paper.
It’s my only hope to rewire my brain tonight. There are too many emotions trapped inside and they need to come out in stark, slashing lines.
Later, when he knocks softly at the door, I jump.
“Dinner. I would’ve called you down to the kitchen, but I figured you were busy,” he says, pushing open the door to slide a plate with pasta inside.
Rigatoni noodles and some kind of Bolognese sauce. Nothing fancy, but my stomach growls anyway.
“Thanks, Holden.” I nod gratefully and disappear.
I scarf it down, grateful I don’t have to dance around him watching me over a table where he gets to see what a messy eater I am when I’m starving.
Night falls.
I hear him making the rounds, just like old times, securing the entire house.
Every time he passes by my door, I lift my head. I imagine I’m brave enough to charge out there and confront him.
Enough of this. We need to talk about what happened, I’d say.
No, we don’t, he’d say.
If you’re mad, you can tell me. It’s healthier than keeping it all bottled up.
He’d deny it, of course, and growl back something about how I’m being dramatic.
But would he ever admit to seeing me differently? Ever since this little treasure hunt tossed us together?
Another voice in my head warns me that’s unfair.
He’s probably more disgusted and ashamed than I am. He kissed a girl he practically used to babysit. I’m hardly mature enough to warrant more than a basic, brutish attraction.
That shouldn’t hurt so much.
He’s a lot older and wiser than I am, supposedly. Definitely more experienced.
He has a freaking half-grown daughter.
Somehow, the single dad thing makes him a bigger, darker, dumber sin.
But also, so what?
So fucking what if we had a little manic burst and I roped him into showing some real, human emotion?
It’s not apocalyptic.
I’ve kissed plenty of boys. I bet he’s had his share of women, too.
Kit proves he’s had sex at least once.
Nope. Do not think about that man making babies.
Ugh.
My brain loves intrusive thoughts of the sexy kind like nobody’s business. It especially loves indulging the image of him buried inside me, pinning me to the bed, baring his teeth and filling me with his seed until I scream.
Holy shit, this is torture.
We need to get over this. We need to sit down and talk it out like adults so we can move on.
But every time his firm, strong footsteps sweep past my door, I stay silent. Buried beneath the covers, quietly fuming like the anxiety-eaten little coward I am.
Because there’s still one thing I fear more than Holden shredding my heart again by telling me I’m being ridiculous.
If he admits kissing me disgusted him. My ego couldn’t take the hit.
It’s one thing for him to think it was a crime of passion. But if things get personal, if he tells me that he still sees me as this immature little girl after everything…