Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Wine. Wine and orgasms make you stupid.
Get it together, Tessa.
"Are you...? God, are you okay?" I ask, watching him drag his hand down his face.
His answer is a shake of his head then, "Water. You need water."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." He pushes off the fridge, moving around me to reach the cabinet. He grabs a glass and fills it from the tap. “Can you sit up?”
“We’ll see.” I ease my slack legs over the edge of the counter, the tendons in my hips protesting for a second as I consciously straighten my spine. When he hands the glass to me, our fingers still don't touch.
Sipping the water, I watch him over the rim. He won't look at me directly. Just stares at the counter beside my hip, jaw tight, hands balled at his sides like he's fighting some internal war.
"Beau."
"Yeah."
"You can touch me now."
His eyes flick to mine, and I get the feeling a storm is coming. "No, I can't."
The alcohol and the manic blood flow through my body are making everything soft around the edges, but I can see his struggle. This man who just watched me curse and come and squirt, who talked me through every second of it, won't let himself have even the smallest contact. Not even a brush of fingers.
Touch me. Please just touch me.
I slide off the counter onto my feet, thankful my legs hold me up. When I look up, he immediately steps back.
I wobble slightly and his hands twitch like he wants to steady me.
"Head rush," I explain, pressing my palm to my temple.
He spins on his heel, swinging open a cabinet, fighting with the cap on a little bottle. Then, with a curse, he braces it between his teeth, cracking the cap off.
“Fucking childproof.” He returns with two white pills. "Ibuprofen. You'll thank me tomorrow."
Swallowing them with more water, I study his face. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Don't you need..." I gesture vaguely to his mid-section where there are clear signs of distress behind the fabric to the left of his zipper.
Huge distress.
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
A ghost of a smile crosses his mouth. "Guest cabin's set up for you. Clean sheets, towels. I'll walk you over. You need rest and I need a shower."
“I need a shower, too,” I try, reaching for his chest, but he retreats, already moving toward the door when there’s a loud crash outside.
Freezing, I stare at him. "What was that?"
Beau tilts his head. Another crash, closer this time.
"Probably just a bear. I fucking forgot to clean up the stone oven after I cooked." He grimaces. “You’ve got me distracted, baby.”
"Just a bear?" My voice shoots up an octave. "Just a BEAR?"
Turning back to me, he must see how wide my eyes have gone, the way I'm pressed against the counter, because his expression softens. "More scared of you than you are of them."
"I seriously doubt that." Another crash, and my whole-body jolts. I take an involuntary step toward him, drawn to his steadiness. "How do you...? How do you live here with that going on?"
He shrugs, and I want to go skinny dipping in those pale blue eyes of his.
"Where do you live?" he asks, and I fight off the urge to climb onto his back like a little kid, putting him between me and whatever is out there in the darkity darkness of Wildfire.
The question hangs there and I scramble to remember my cover story. Tina Quincy.
I'm supposed to be Tina Quincy from... where did I say I was from? Think, Tessa. Did I already tell him something? Am I about to contradict myself?
"New York," I finally manage, going with the truth, and hoping it won’t unravel my lies.
He snorts, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. "You think a bear is dangerous? Bears don't mug you. They don't carjack you or break into your apartment while you're sleeping. They just want food, or to be left alone. Or to protect their family. They’re not malicious. They have no hidden agendas."
"Bears are bigger than muggers."
Beau smiles and I think his eyes lighten a shade. "Some are. Some aren’t. But they’re a hell of a lot more predictable than people."
Something snuffles against the side of the house, and panic cinches around my windpipe.
Oh my God. Oh my God, it's right there.
Beau cocks his head, leaning toward the window, then his eyes are back on mine. "Black bear. Maybe three hundred pounds. He's checking out the bird feeder now. I’ll have a hell of a mess to clean up in the morning. Serves me right."
"Three hundred pounds?"
"Don’t worry, city girl," he says, as a new rush of heat blasts through my veins. "You're staying in my room tonight."
I blink. "What?"
"Maybe I baited him. Made sure I could keep you closer." He winks. He freakin’ winks at me as a three-hundred-pound bear leisurely dismantles everything outside. My knees are ready to give out when he gestures toward the stairs. "Come on."