Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
My mood sinks a little lower. I can deny it no longer: the sticky itch of failure is upon me. My grandparents’ house will go on sale and be lost to me.
Worse things have happened. Much worse. If viewed from the outside, I’m complaining for no reason. I’ll benefit financially in ways most people never dreamed of. I tell myself this regularly. Eventually it has to sink in.
I’m staring blindly at a row of kiosks when there’s a voice at my ear. “Hey.”
As though zapped, I whip around.
“August!” It comes out in an unfortunate squeak of surprise.
“Hi.” That gorgeous smile of his unfurls slow but sure. It does funny things to my insides. Worse, though, is the way his sudden appearance has somehow brightened everything and happiness flows through me like liquid light.
Stranger still? He seems happily surprised as well.
His gaze travels over my face like he can’t believe I’m here. “I didn’t know you were on this flight.”
“Why would you? We never exchanged travel plans.”
“I don’t remember you being this sassy.” He peers at me in mock suspicion. “Did you grow into it or something?”
“No, I take sassy supplements at bedtime. I mean, ‘if you haven’t got your health—’”
“‘—you haven’t got anything.’” He inclines his head toward mine. “I was subjected to The Princess Bride too.”
“One is not subjected to The Princess Bride. One watches with glee or one hates it and is resigned to a lifetime of wallowing in freakish misery.”
“Cute. The way you keep sliding in those quotes.”
“It’s a gift. And a curse.”
“You did it again,” he points out.
“Did I?” I so did.
August nods. “That was from Monk.”
“Hmm . . . Are you sure?”
“Yes. Mom loves that show. She watches it every time she does a deep housecleaning. Says it ‘channels’ her sanitation energies.” He studies me for a beat, and a little line forms between his brows. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”
“What? No!” I wave my hand. “I’m totally fine with it.”
If he only knew.
“Faint praise.”
“Well, I’m not going to gush, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“No.” August straightens. “No . . . I don’t want that.”
“But?”
“Not a ‘but’ exactly. More a why? As in, why do you keep looking at me like I’m a bad stink caught in the wind? Because I’ll have you know, I shower every day. Twice when I’m working. Which makes me a fairly clean individual.”
It’s cute the way he’s rambling, as though he’s nervous. I’ve never actually seen August nervous. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s feeling chatty. But I enjoy it regardless.
“And,” he concludes with a proud lift of the chin, “I’ve been told I smell pretty damn good.”
Truth? He smells great. Always has. Pure delicious pheromones. But that little taunt does something to me. Something wicked that’s not like me at all.
I tilt my head, considering. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. Women love the way I smell—” He lets out a strangled sound as I rise to my toes until the tip of my nose touches the warm curve of his neck to draw in his scent.
I’d acted on pure impulse, wanting to be that girl: the fun one who disarms men with her charm. But I’m an amateur, way out of my depth. My body tightens like a clenched fist, hot and quick. All rational thought falls by the wayside.
He’s warm and solid, and the scent of his skin makes me dizzy. My eyes flutter closed as I swallow hard and try not to fall into him. Because I want that. I want to lean against August’s long, hard body and just burrow.
The moment stretches, both of us sort of swaying. My heart beats so hard and fast—he must hear it. Panic follows. He’s going to know what he does to me, and I’ll never live it down. Worse, if I don’t move I’m going to kiss his neck, and where would that leave me? Total humiliation.
My breath gusts out, and he shivers, little goose bumps rising on his skin. For a second, I swear he’s turning his head, lowering it to get closer. I can’t breathe. Maybe I’ll faint and end up in an inelegant sprawl right here on the airport floor.
The horror of that image has me falling back on my heels with an audible thud. We stare at each other, August with his brow knit as though he can’t believe my cheek, me with what I’m going to assume is red-faced awkwardness.
I clear my throat. “You smell . . . ah, great. But for the record. I never thought you smelled bad. And I don’t find you annoying. That expression is just my face doing its thing.”
His brow clears. “For the record, it’s a great face.”
“I . . . oh.” What???
“I know you thought I wasn’t serious when I said you were attractive last night. But I was. You’re very pretty, Penelope.”