Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
That remained to be seen. “Good.” He bent and lifted her again, smiling when she yelped. Then he strode down the long hall to his bedroom and attached bath, where he set her down. “Hop in the shower to warm up, and I’ll leave some sweats on the bed for you to change into. Then I want to look at your knee, okay?” His sweats would be so big on her he could easily pull them up to see.
She gulped. “You’re bossy.”
“You have no idea.” He reached in and switched on the water before leaving the bathroom. When she locked the door behind him, he grinned.
His planned date had definitely gone awry, but the least he could do was feed her. Then he’d take her back to town, as long as her knee was fine. He would not, under any circumstances, think of the naked woman currently in his shower.
Nope. Not going there.
CHAPTER 9
Bianca eased the bedroom door open and stepped into the hallway, pausing for a moment to get her balance. The hot shower had helped, but her knee still ached, a slow pulse that reminded her with every step that the crash had been real. She didn’t look back at the sprawling bed with its dark blue comforter. Adam’s bedroom smelled like leather and something distinctly male—clean soap, worn cotton, the faint bite of cedar. Very appealing. The scent clung to her skin now, and that realization warmed her in a way the shower hadn’t quite managed.
She moved slowly down the short hallway toward the living room, one hand brushing the wall as she walked. The house felt quiet and comfortable around her, the storm outside reduced to a steady drumming on the roof and a soft rush of wind along the eaves. The calm inside the ranch house wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Comfortable. Possibly dangerous in a very different way.
The living room opened in front of her, inviting and peaceful. A long leather couch faced a stone fireplace that probably heated the entire house during the worst of Montana winters. A thick woven rug covered the wooden floor, its pattern worn smooth in places from years of boots crossing it. Nearby, a guitar leaned against the wall beside a wide chair, and a pair of battered cowboy hats rested on pegs near the door.
She could picture Adam here in the evening, boots kicked off, shoulders loose after a long day, maybe strumming that guitar while the fire cracked. The image arrived fully formed and far too intimate for a woman who had met him only yesterday.
Her knee protested when she took another step, the dull throb deepening as she crossed the room toward the kitchen. The oversized T-shirt Adam had given her brushed the tops of her knees, and the gray sweats were rolled twice at the waist and again at the cuffs just to keep her from tripping.
She looked ridiculous.
But she was warm.
After toweling off her hair, she’d braided it quickly so it wouldn’t keep dripping water down her back.
The kitchen light spilled across the floor ahead of her, and the smell tantalized her before she even reached the doorway. Garlic and tomatoes mixed into a rich aroma that made her stomach growl.
She stepped into the kitchen and stopped cold.
Wow.
Adam stood with his back to her, stirring a pot on the stove, having obviously changed clothes. Dry jeans fit low on his hips, and a dark T-shirt stretched across his muscled shoulders. His feet were bare against the worn wooden floor, and the kitchen light caught the damp edges of his hair where it curled at the back of his neck.
The sight spiked her pulse. For a moment she simply watched him.
The kitchen suited him the same way the rest of the house did, solid and practical and comfortable. Open shelves held mismatched dishes and mugs. Beneath the window sat a wide farmhouse sink that looked out over a creek barely visible through the storm. To the right, a small country table rested in an alcove, already set with plates and silverware. A bottle of red wine waited open beside two glasses.
The man had cooked dinner for her.
Adam glanced over his shoulder. His gaze slid down the length of the oversized shirt and rolled sweats before returning to her face. It lingered just long enough that warmth crept up the back of her neck.
“Well,” he said, amusement slipping into his voice, “those fit exactly how I expected.”
Bianca pushed away from the doorway and limped toward the table to sit. “I’m wonderfully content,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Adam turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce once more before draining a pot of pasta in the sink. Steam filled the kitchen for a moment, carrying the scent of garlic and herbs.
Bianca rested her elbows on the table and watched him. “You can cook?”