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)
Anyone tries to pull shit with her again, I’ll bundle the bones of their fingers together, which I’ll remove with a Sawzall, then turn them into a custom-made ass-crack scratcher just for her.
I start hauling suitcases to my truck, possessiveness pounding in my chest.
She reaches for a little square case next to the bigger one I’m pulling out, and I snarl before I can stop myself.
"Don't," I snap.
She pulls back like she just got burned. "I was just—"
"I said don't fucking touch it. I’ll do it. You just stand there and look beautiful."
Her face flushes pink as she steps back. “I’m more than a pretty face.”
She smiles, but her eyes don’t. It makes me angry, ready to put myself between her and whatever might upset her, past, present or future.
But if she touches me right now, if her fingers brush mine reaching for the same handle, I'll drag her into the back of this truck and show her exactly what Daddy does to disobedient little girls.
Five minutes later, my truck bed is full, everything is strapped down, and she's perched in the passenger seat like a lost little bunny. Her legs are crossed, those crazy green boots screaming she’s not from around here.
I want to run my tongue along the creamy skin at the base of her throat. Bite it. Mark it.
My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
"Where is your place?" she asks as I palm the wheel, taking the last turn onto the dirt road up to my cabin.
"Up."
"That's... specific." She shifts, and the darts of her nipples in the cold A/C of the truck stick out through her still-damp little white blouse. I damn near drive off the fucking road. “Again, Mr. Boone, I think I have a right to know where exactly I’m going. After all, you did not provide me with more than anecdotal evidence of your identity, besides some referential conversation with a brother and the threat of calling your sisters-in-law. I think I should get—"
I expel a hard breath on a few curse words. If I wasn’t ass over teakettle for this girl already, I might introduce her to the magic silence a strip of duct tape can bring.
Her eyes are on me, waiting for more details about where we are going, I’m sure, but I’m not sure what to tell her.
Your new home?
That’s likely not going to garner me more trust, so I keep the words lodged in my windpipe.
"Are you always this chatty?" She crosses her arms, lips rolling together as she raises a brow at my mute silence.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I like the company."
She goes quiet. When I glance over, she's biting her lip, staring out at the trees. Shoulders hunched.
"Do you?" Voice smaller. Eyes back toward me. "Like the company?"
Shit. I am many things, but a liar I’m not. I can avoid a question, skirt the truth like I did at the car wash. But out-and-out lying?
Not my style.
"Yeah." I nod. "I like it."
The apples of her cheeks burn dark pink. "Good."
My approval matters to her. My cock throbs.
"You scared of heights?" I ask before the urge to pull the truck over and show her exactly how much I like her company takes hold.
"No." She pauses, then softer, "Should I be?"
"Depends how much you trust me."
She looks at me then. Those brown eyes search my face, and heat prickles up my spine. "Can I? Trust you, that is?"
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun. I take the next curve fast, tires gripping asphalt, and her hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard.
Her breath catches. She gasps, followed by a little moan.
I want to hear that sound again. Louder. In my bed.
"You can trust me," I answer, rolling my neck around in an effort to release the knots she’s tying me in. "I've been driving this road for twenty years."
"Is that what we're talking about?" Her hand is still pressed against the dash, knuckles white.
We climb higher. Trees get thicker, air thinner. She's quiet, watching the world narrow to just us and the mountain.
One last turn and we’re on my property. My guesthouse sits at the end of a gravel drive, small and clean with a view that drops straight to nowhere.
I park and kill the engine.
"This is it?"
"This is it."
She gets out, stepping carefully on the uneven gravel. Pulls out her phone, holds it up, frowning at the screen. "No signal."
"Spotty up here. You’ll get texts through, a little delayed usually but you’ll get them. But the reception’s not steady enough for a phone call. Need satellite if you want to talk to the outside world."
Her face goes pale. "Satellite?"
"Got one inside. For emergencies."
I start unloading suitcases, watching her take in the place. The isolation. The silence. Nothing like her world.
My cabin isn't roughing it. My brothers and I all helped each other when it came to building, and we all had ideas of what we wanted.