Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Must have taken some pep talk to get her ass over here to begin with.
And he’d shot her down in two seconds flat.
He drained the rest of his beer. What the hell was he supposed to do? Apologize? He might like her tight little body and soulful eyes, but that just meant he’d be down to rock her world for a few hours. Call him crazy, but Sloan didn’t strike him as a woman who was down for a dark and dirty fuck. She was too sweet for that sort of thing.
Jude didn’t do sweet.
But…
He set his bottle down and turned to consider the O’Connor place. If he went over and shared a beer with her, it didn’t have to mean a damn thing. If she was living there, it was possible she knew where Sorcha was, or at least when the old woman would be back. He could be charming when it suited him.
Maybe.
Reconnaissance. That’s all it was.
You’re a goddamn liar.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called it.
He ducked back into his place and grabbed two beers from the fridge. Ten minutes, thirty tops. He’d be in, get the information he needed, and get out. Then he could go back to researching and planning out his next step.
She answered the back door, her big dark eyes surprisingly shiny, which only served to make him feel more like an asshole. Jude held up the two beers. “I was out of line. Sorry.”
She blinked. “I don’t know if I want the beer now.”
Well, hell, he didn’t exactly blame her. But since he’d made the effort to come over here, he wasn’t about to leave without accomplishing what he’d set out to do. Jude tried for a smile. “It’s better than the shit they sell at the general store down here.”
Her eyebrows slanted down, making him think of a disapproving kindergarten teacher. “That’s rude. From my experience, beer isn’t all that wonderful, regardless of its brand. You don’t have to be a snob about it.”
It never failed. Even when he was doing his damnedest to be charming and meld into the world around him, he invariably said something to set himself apart. He doubted Sloan had that problem. She fit right in with the people of Callaway Rock, sliding into the rhythm of life in this place without missing a step. He didn’t really understand what that was like. He could fake it for a time, but the truth always outed.
And the truth was that Jude didn’t fit in anywhere.
He held up the beer. “Do you want it or not?”
Her shoulders slumped, but she made a visible effort to pull herself together. “Yes.”
He could do better than this. He had to. Jude sank onto the wicker chair on the porch across from where she stood and popped the cap off his beer. She really was a petite little thing. He had the strangest urge to sit her down in front of a pile of food and make sure she ate. Jude shook his head and waited for her to take the other chair. They were delicate to the extreme, and he felt like an idiot perching there, half-sure it would break under his weight and send him sprawling on his ass.
But he was trying to be less threatening, so he didn’t surge to his feet like he wanted to.
Sloan took a tiny sip of her beer and made a face. “This is…good.”
“Not much of a beer drinker then, even with all your experience?”
“Not much of a drinker at all.” She took another sip, and he almost laughed. “If this is what the so-called good stuff is like, I don’t think I’m going to start.”
How old was this girl? He put aside his weird impulses, which seemed to pop up whenever he was around her, and surveyed her with a critical eye. Too thin, too much history, but she had a world-weary look in her brown eyes that only came with some years in the rearview. She’d seen things.
Still, he wasn’t a man to leave things to chance. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
She glared, giving the first indication that there might be a backbone in there. “I’m twenty-four.”
A baby.
Not that he was ancient. But thirty-five was a whole hell of a lot of living—and hard living—in comparison. He took a drink of his beer. “So you didn’t have much of a twenty-one run.”
“My older sister tried.” She took a hasty sip of beer and set the bottle down. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you for the beer.”
He leaned back, carefully stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles. Going home was the right thing to do. He’d repaired whatever blow he’d delivered to her ego. Staying around was just asking for trouble.
Jude opened his mouth to say good-bye, but that wasn’t what came out. “You have any vodka in this place?”