Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
There’s nothing fake about the way she melts into me. Nothing fake about the soft sound she makes in the back of her throat. Nothing fake about the way her fingers curl into my jacket like she needs me.
When we break apart, her eyes are wide, glazed, and her lips are swollen.
“Jack…” she whispers, breathless.
“We’re not faking that again,” I growl.
Her mouth opens, then shuts. She looks… flustered. Like she’s trying to catch up with something her body figured out five minutes ago.
I smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
She doesn’t say a word the rest of the night.
But when we get back to the cabin, she’s still quiet. Still flushed. She kicks off her heels by the door and heads for the hallway.
I follow. “You gonna say something?”
She turns. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you felt it.”
She swallows. “I did.”
Silence.
“But I can’t,” she adds.
My chest tightens. “Can’t what?”
Her gaze flicks away. “This. Us. It’s complicated.”
“Bullshit.” I take a step closer. “You want me. I know it. You know it. Every damn person at that wedding knew it.”
“I’m not ready, Jack.”
“Then tell me what this is.” I motion between us. “Tell me why that kiss felt like setting off dynamite.”
She looks up at me, and for a second, I swear she’s going to cave.
But then she steps back. “Goodnight, Jack.”
I watch her disappear down the hallway.
And all I can think is: she’s hiding something. And I’m done pretending I don’t want to find out what.
Chapter Seven
Holly
The sound of the table saw whines through the mountain air, sharp and clean, followed by the rhythmic thud of a mallet. I pause in the doorway of Jack’s workshop, arms crossed over my chest, pretending I’m not watching the way his forearms flex as he braces the edge of a plank.
Sunlight slices through the open windows, dust motes dancing in golden shafts, and there he is—shirtless again, like it’s some kind of uniform—covered in sawdust, sweat, and pure sin.
He’s not even trying, and still I’m standing here like a heat-struck idiot, watching muscles ripple beneath tanned skin and wondering how long I can pretend I’m not two seconds from climbing him like a tree.
"You know staring's not part of the job description, right?" he says without looking up.
I roll my eyes, stepping into the room. "And yet you conveniently forgot to mention 'shirt optional' in the ad."
"Guess some perks don’t fit in print."
His voice is low, rough as sandpaper, and it sends a bolt of heat straight down my spine. I swallow and lean against the workbench, careful to keep my tone casual.
"So, what is this masterpiece you're beating into submission today?"
He looks up. "Kitchen island. Hickory top. Custom cut joins."
"Sexy."
He arches a brow. "You’ve got a weird definition of foreplay."
"Oh, I haven’t even started."
Jack sets the mallet down, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his neck. My eyes follow every move. Every drop of sweat. Every flex of muscle.
Get a grip, Holly.
But that’s impossible when he walks toward me, stopping a breath away, eyes dark and curious.
"You’ve been weird since the wedding last night."
I lift my chin. "Define weird."
"Tense. Quiet. Like you're hiding something."
I force a smile. "Maybe I’m just still recovering from your dance moves."
He doesn't laugh. He just steps closer, eyes locked on mine. "It wasn’t fake, you know."
"What wasn’t?"
"The kiss. The way you melted into me like your body remembered something you didn’t want your brain to admit."
My throat tightens. I look away.
"That’s ridiculous."
His fingers graze my jaw, coaxing my gaze back to his. "Is it? Because you’ve been looking at me like you’re waiting for the floor to drop. Like you’re scared."
I step back, heart hammering. "I’m not scared of you."
He narrows his eyes. "But you’re scared of something."
I turn toward the door, needing space, needing to breathe.
"I’ve got things to do, Jack."
He grabs my wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop me. "You’re not just some woman who answered a job ad. I can feel it. Hell, the kid—"
I freeze. My spine stiffens.
"What about her?"
Jack’s voice drops. "She’s...she’s…" his eyes flick up and down my form, like he knows but can’t quite bring himself to find the words to say it.
Silence pulses between us.
Then I say, too quickly, "I don’t want to talk about this right now."
His hand falls away from my wrist, but his eyes don’t leave mine. "Don’t lie to me, Holly."
"And what if I have been?" My voice cracks, breathless. "What if I am? What then?"
He steps forward again, and I back into the bench. His hands cage me in on either side, sawdust sticking to his skin as heat rolls off him in waves. He wraps a dusty hand around the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss that’s fierce, claiming, desperate.
I melt. Again.
My body remembers every inch of him. My heart does too.