Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
We manage two more dances before Charlotte’s grandmother intercepts us near the dessert table—petite, silver-haired, eyes sharp as cut glass.
“Well, well,” she says, tapping my forearm with her cane as though testing the quality. “The happy couple glowing like sparklers.”
“Nana Peg, you look lovely,” Charlotte says, kissing her cheek.
“Thank you, dear. I didn’t realize Asher was quite the dancer.” She offers her hand and I take it with respectful firmness.
“Nice to see you again.”
She scrutinizes my face as if comparing me to a lineup. “So, Mr. Hawke, indulge an old romantic—what are your plans once you sweep my granddaughter off the aisle?”
Charlotte stiffens. I keep my smile easy. “First, a modest honeymoon. She craves the mountains. I’m thinking something more tropical. Obviously she’ll win.”
Her grandmother’s brow arches, impressed despite herself. “And after the honeymoon?”
“I’m renovating a ranch house outside Denver,” I say, speaking about my family’s property. “Plenty of room for the library Charlotte wants and the rescue dogs she won’t stop talking about.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen—adoration, disbelief, or both. She recovers quickly. “He’s promised me a window seat for reading and a kitchen big enough for holiday feasts.”
“Grandchildren?” Nana Peg fires off, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Eventually,” Charlotte says before I can. “We’ll enjoy being newlyweds first.” She squeezes my hand.
I nod, adding, “Timing’s less important than raising them in a home built on trust.”
Nana Peg studies us, gaze ping-ponging between faces, seeking cracks. Finding none—at least none she can pry open—she pats Charlotte’s arm. “Well then, my dear, I’ll expect a postcard from Denver.”
“We’ll send two,” Charlotte promises, relief hidden behind a bright smile.
The matriarch glides away, cane tapping a contented rhythm. We both exhale.
Charlotte turns to me, voice a hush. “Can you believe that?”
“So, she’s accepted us.” I smile wide. “I do own a ranch house, that wasn’t a lie, though the kitchen needs work.”
Her laughter is soft, and maybe a little awed. “You’re scarily good at this, you know.”
“I meant every word.” The confession slips out before I can leash it. Her breath catches, and my own heart stutters.
Across the ballroom, Wade downs his whiskey, glare razor-sharp. Nancy whispers in his ear, eyes narrowed. Trouble is brewing. But in Charlotte’s reflected gaze I see steady trust, and for tonight that’s ammunition enough.
I offer my hand again. “Another dance, Mrs. Almost-Hawke?”
She grins, placing her palm in mine. “Lead on, Mr. Hawke.”
As I guide her back to the dancefloor, I know lines have blurred past reclaiming. The job says protect the asset. My heart murmurs protect the woman.
And I’m starting to realize they are one and the same.
20
Charlotte
The resort’s charity event wrapped hours ago, yet adrenaline still thrums through me like a second heartbeat. I can’t stop smiling. The boardroom, the gala tent, the way Asher stood at my side tightening his cufflinks—every moment sparkled brighter than the chandeliers overhead. Now the laughter and applause are just echoes behind us, and I step onto our suite’s balcony to catch a breath of salt-sweet night air.
The sky is a velvety blue-black, the moon a pearly orb high above. Below, lantern-lit pathways wind through gardens that shimmer with reflections of orchids and palms. Beyond that, the ocean yawns wide and dark, its gentle waves murmuring secrets to the shore.
Asher appears behind me, silent as a shadow. He hasn't touched me yet. He just stands close enough that I feel his warmth brushing my back. My pulse stutters in anticipation.
“I thought you might want to use the balcony for some… self-defense training,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate.
I turn to face him, laughter bubbling up. “Self defense? Now, after four courses of caviar and champagne?”
He smiles, tracing the line of my jaw with the tip of a finger. “You never know who might try to sneak a taste of you.”
I shiver as his thumb sweeps across my skin. “Am I in danger?” I tease.
Asher doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he steps behind me, pressing me gently against the balcony railing so his chest warms my back. He inhales softly, lips grazing the nape of my neck. “You smell incredible,” he breathes.
I tilt my head, giving him a sliver of space, and run my fingertips lightly across his forearm. “I used that new lavender-sandalwood lotion you like.” I laugh, heart fluttering. “So… aren’t you supposed to be teaching me self-defense moves?”
His arms circle my waist, hands resting low at my hips, thumbs brushing the curve of my butt. He growl-laughs softly. “I can’t help it.”
His confession hits me like a spark. My body ignites, needy and alive. I lean back into him, closing the circle between us. “I can’t help it either.”
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my dress, grazing the creamy skin of my lower back. I gasp, a hot, sharp sound. He smiles against my neck, then draws back to see the effect he’s having on me.