Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
He swears, and then he takes off his hat and shoves it on my head a little aggressively for someone who says he’s worried about an injury. His hair is brown and gold but it’s too short. Has he cut it?
Wait…
I blink to get my eyes to focus, so I can study his grooved forehead, those fiercely grumpy eyebrows and his lovely light-brown skin. It is him. He’s too distinctive to be mistaken for anyone else. “What are you doing out here in the middle of a snowstorm?”
“You don’t know? I thought you were a singing spy.” He’s still checking for injuries instead of answering me. “I’ll have to carry you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good plan,” I tell him firmly. “We have to be close to the lodge. I saw a window, and my r-room is right up there. If I can relax here for a f-few more minutes, I’ll be able to walk the rest of the way.”
One eyebrow arches fiercely. “If you have a room at the lodge, what the hell are you doing all the way out here in this weather?”
“It’s not like I planned it, Grumpy. There were scary bushes and then I got lost and my phone died before it started snowing.”
He lowers his scarf and my eyes widen at the full beard on display. That’s new, but at least it doesn’t hide his familiar scowl completely. I want to kiss that frown upside down. I already know I can. I’ve done it before.
“You got lost. You didn’t mean to come to the cabin.” Those aren’t questions, and the foggy exhale that follows is a diatribe long. “Never mind, we can talk inside.”
“What cabin?” Before he can answer, my knees give out. He’s right there to catch me, lifting me with a swiftness that leaves me blinking. Why is the not-love snow attacking my face now?
Oh, yeah. I’m being carried through the woods like some damsel in distress by a handsome rescuer who just happens to be the guy at the pub that I…
No, that can’t be right. Maybe I do have a concussion. Maybe I’m unconscious.
“You can’t c-carry me in this. You might hurt yourself. Connor can t-toss me around like a sack of potatoes, but he’s a weight-lifting mutant,” I mumble.
“You’re skinny for a sack of potatoes,” he observes impolitely. “And who is this Connor asshole who picks out your boots and tosses you around? Your boyfriend?”
“He’s my b-best friend. Or he was before he stole my massage. And the word is wiry, not skinny. Only I can call myself skinny.” I squint up at his gloriously maintained beard. It’s shiny and it smells like cinnamon. Bet it would feel good too. Two freckles behind his ear catch my eye, and a visual of kissing that ear while he groans suddenly pops into my head.
It is definitely him.
He manhandles me the same way he did that night. It’s almost too much for my frozen brain to handle, so I try to think of something else. “Can I borrow your phone? I need to call him to come pick me up.”
And then I’ll convince him to take me back to Bex and far away from this entire situation.
“It’s at the cabin. You can use it when we get there.”
“That’s nice. You’re nice.” No, he isn’t. Why did I say that? And why do I feel like I’ve had one too many shots of tequila?
“I thought I was grumpy. Or was it bossy?”
“All of the above,” I assure him. “Nice and grumpy and b-bossy.”
He might also be a little kidnap-y, since he’s focused on this “cabin” and ignoring all my hints about the lodge and people who’ll notice if I’m missing. Eventually. Connor will notice eventually.
“We’ll call you Numpy.” Since I never got his name.
“We will never call me that.” His chest rumbles when he speaks, making me think of bears instead of dragons.
“A numpy bear,” I murmur sleepily. “Did you know t-teddy bears were created after Teddy Roosevelt refused to shoot a bear t-tied to a tree, because it wasn’t s-sporting?”
“I did not know that.” He sounds apathetic about it but dips his head down to hear me anyway, his scratchy beard brushing against my undamaged cheek deliciously.
The sensation tempts me to nuzzle closer. “Taft t-tried to replace it, but nobody r-really liked Billy Possum. Who w-wants to cuddle a p-possum?”
“That’s a riveting story.” His voice vibrates against my temple. “Please, tell me more about stuffed roadkill while we stroll through this snowstorm.”
“Rude.” But surprisingly funny, I think with a chuckle, pressing against his soft jacket. Sheepskin leather is so warm, even with snow melting on it. “When I get back, I think I’ll take a nap. Things a-always look b-better after a nap.”
His arms tighten around me. “Stay awake for now. What’s your real name?”