Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“I want to buy it.”
I snort and turn to leave, but he pulls me around again.
“You’re going to give me whiplash.”
“How much for the painting?”
“I’m not selling it to you.”
“Why the fuck not?”
I pull away and make it to the door this time, and when we’re settled in his Range Rover, he persists.
“I want it.”
“Xander, it’s mediocre at best.”
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, and I like it. I have a spot for it in my house. How much?”
I blow out a raspberry. “If you don’t overdo it today and listen to me and follow directions, you can have it.”
Xander scowls as he pulls away from the house. “You’re selling yourself short.”
“No, I’m not. Did you bring a water bottle?”
I hold mine up and give it a shake.
“Yes, boss. I brought water. You’re so fucking bossy when it comes to my hydration schedule.”
“I need to be. You need water.”
He turns onto the highway that leads to the next town over.
“You can choose the music.”
I grin. “You sure?”
“Go for it.”
I turn to a ’90s pop station, and I don’t miss the way Xander gives me the side-eye.
“You told me to choose.” I shrug a shoulder and start singing along with Celine Dion. I’m very off key.
I don’t care.
“Are you trying to murder me?”
“Death by Celine?” I ask.
“No, death by bloody eardrums.” He sticks his finger in his ear and gives it a shake. “You’re pure magic with a paintbrush, but please don’t pursue a career in music.”
Pure magic.
Why does he have to make the butterflies in my stomach act like they’re at a rave every freaking day?
I let the music fill the silence for the rest of the drive, and after he pulls into the parking lot, he turns off the SUV and frowns.
“Are they open? No one’s here.”
“I rented it out for the afternoon,” I reply, and push out of the car.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I don’t need some wobbly kid running into you and reinjuring your knee. I wanted freshly groomed ice with no distractions or obstacles.”
“You don’t have much faith in my skills.”
“Your skills are not my issue. I can’t have you falling today. So you have to promise to take it easy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and opens the back of the vehicle, pulls out two bags of skates, and follows me inside.
I check in with the desk, and then we move to an area where we can change before getting on the ice.
Of course, I’m not changing my shoes.
But after Xander puts his skates on, he just sits there, watching me.
“What? Do you not feel comfortable with this? We don’t have to do it, just tell me if you’re having second thoughts.”
“Sweetheart, skating is easier than walking for me. I’m waiting for you.”
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“No you’re not.”
I frown at him. “I’m not getting on the ice.”
He shakes his head, opens the second bag, and pulls out brand-new skates.
“I brought you supplies.”
I blink at him. “How—what? Why did you do that?”
“Because I assumed, correctly of course, that you don’t own your own pair, and we’re going to be doing this a lot. I can’t have you wearing rental skates. Those come with rental foot fungus.”
I snort and shake my head.
“I can’t skate.”
“Why?”
Xander frowns up at me, and I do not want to admit this to him.
“I don’t know how. I’ve never done it.”
His sexy smile spreads over his lips. “You’re about to learn, Red.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
XANDER
That pretty blush moves into her cheeks, and she shakes her head. She’s wearing a gray wool hat, but her red hair peeks out from under it, and my fingers itch to brush some strands behind her ear.
“This isn’t about me,” she says, and nibbles that kissable lower lip. “This is for you.”
“Look. If I’m out there teaching you how to skate, I have to go slow. If I don’t have you on the ice with me, I’ll be a rebel and you’ll be mad at me, and I might sustain a career-ending blow.”
“Don’t fucking say that!” She props her hands on her hips, and God, I want to kiss her. “That’s not funny, Xander.”
“I know. It’s fucking serious. So you’d better let me put these skates on you. Besides, you don’t want to waste these. They’re CCM.”
She blinks at me. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means they’re damn good, now get over here and take your shoes off.”
Did I order my sexy physical therapist brand-new professional-grade skates? Fuck yes, I did, because I can’t wait to see her in them and on the ice.
It’s going to be sexy as fuck.
Reluctantly, Ivy sits and takes her shoes off, and I help her get the skates on, frustrated that I can’t kneel or squat in front of her so I can lace them.
“I’ve got it,” she assures me. “Just walk me through it.”
“I fucking hate being injured,” I mutter, but between the two of us, we get her ready to go, and she clings to me as we walk to the ice.