Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Like looking at the sun, I have to take him in in little bits, or I’ll go blind.
“You drove up here alone, in that?” His voice is rough as his eyes dart to my car, Adam’s apple moving as he swallows.
I blink, my heart slamming into my ribs. “It’s got all-wheel drive…” I swallow right with him, distractingly aware he still hasn’t let me go. “I’m your home care provider.”
His gaze drops to my feet, then slowly drags up my legs, lingering in places that make my thighs clench.
“Flats? Did you not know you were driving half way to heaven up the side of a mountain?” His thick brow furrows. “You could’ve broken your fuckin’ neck.”
My breath catches, a defensive anger making me blink. “But, I didn’t, did I?” I squirm out of his grip which makes his mouth tick into an infuriatingly sex frown. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to sue you for negligent path maintenance causing great bodily injury.”
He takes a long breath, his stupidly sexy chest expanding under the plaid flannel, then he sniffs and his eyes drop to where I’m favoring my left leg. “You’re fucking bleeding.”
He sounds absolutely furious about it.
“It’s just a scrape.” I glance down, thinking this must be how Nancy Kerigan felt after getting whacked with that metal police baton.
“You shouldn’t be scraped at all.” His jaw ticks as his hands finally drop away from my waist, though he doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans closer. “Little girl like you, you shouldn’t even be out here.”
Little?
I frown, suddenly defensive. Is he being an asshole right now? “I’m a medical assistant from the agency assigned to you after your hospital stay. I came to take care of you.”
His nostrils flare like he doesn’t like that answer one bit. “You’re not takin’ care of me while you’re hurt.”
I swear smoke is starting to come out of his ears. I blink. Blink. Blink.
He leans in closer, so close I can feel his breath brush my lips.
“You showed up for me. You bled for me. You think I’m not going to make sure you are taken care of?
I shift back a half-step. His lips are so close I don’t trust myself not to lean in and kiss him, full tongue.
The way he says the part about being taken care of sounds dirty in the best sort of way and I swear the carved grizzly is taunting me from over his shoulder.
“I’m just here to clean your wound, not get a lecture on mountain safety. So, let’s just do that, shall we?”
His smile is pure sin and lethal.
His arms cross, and the movement pulls his flannel tight across shoulders that look like they were built to carry a girl like me straight into the woods and do the most debauched and wonderful things to her. His eyes stay fixed on my face, unblinking, like he’s logging points on a map for later.
He lowers a hand and scoops up my bag, spinning on the toe of his worn hiking boot and heading back toward the porch.
“Come. Or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you.” He tosses me a look and little fingers of naughtiness drum down low, reminding me of how long it’s been since I had any sort of Sheriff Boone sort of action.
I stand there for a second, my knee getting warm and achy, like my suddenly awakened-from-years-of-slumber vagina. My eyes solidly pinned on how his butt looks in those worn Levi’s, thinking I’ve just scratched the winning ticket because I’m gonna ask him to drop his drawers in the very near future.
“Come on, babygirl. We gotta look at that knee. And apparently,” He smirks like he’s reading my mind, “you’re gonna get an up close and personal look at my ass.”
He extends a hand as I get to the stairs and I bite back the wince as I bend my leg to take them one at a time. His jaw is set hard, a slight shake of his head, but his hand engulfs mine, warm and demanding, leading me across the worn wood planks of the porch and through the door.
Inside the cabin, it’s warmer than outside. Dark wood everywhere. Beautiful stained glass lamps that look shockingly like authentic Tiffany lamps. It adds a layer of surprising refinement to the rustic, minimally decorated masculine space.
The strong scent of coffee and maybe woodsmoke from a well-used iron stove in the kitchen tops off the classic mountain cabin vibe.
It’s lived-in but orderly. The kind of place that shouldn’t feel comforting but somehow does. There are a few photos on the walls. A foursome of men in several that look similar to Sheriff Boone here, but each with their distinctive features, along with a small but determined looking older woman who I can only assume is the mother to this mountain man-meat clan.