Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
How lucky am I to live in this beautiful town where the ocean meets the forests and the fields meet the trees? I have my grandmother and my sisters, a job that pays some basic bills, and friends around every corner and in each shop. What more could I ask for?
The property.
A comfortable life.
Love?
I take a long, shaky breath.
Is love even real?
I’m not sure anymore. Unless it smacks me upside the head or gives me what my parents had, I don’t want it. Thinking love exists after the last time I got burned is a fool’s errand. It’s been a long time since I had someone tell me I’m beautiful. It’s been longer since I’ve been kissed. I can’t even remember the last time I—get out of your head, Summer. This train of thought leads to a dead end.
Sex aside, would it be greedy to ask for just a little more in life? I don’t need hearts and flowers. I’d settle for companionship or someone who makes me smile at this point.
My chest burns with a loneliness that’s been creeping up on me lately. It grows a little deeper each day. I’ve taken care of my sisters and grandmother since my parents passed. They don’t need me anymore, not in any significant way. So maybe having this new project—an amazing opportunity—will help. Directing my energies toward saving our town from ending up like Ocean’s Bay is really a godsend.
I’m startled out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone against the console. I glance down, ready to let the unfamiliar number go to voicemail. But I pick it up just in case it’s not spam. “Hello?”
“Summer Season?”
The warmth of the voice wraps around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly day. But I still don’t recognize it. “Yes? Who is this?”
The sound of air sucked in pervades the call. “Daniel.”
“Daniel who?” I ask, smiling at myself in the rearview mirror. I knew we’d get here—him calling me for help—but it came even faster than I anticipated.
“Daniel Sutton. Your summer tenant.” His tone holds equal parts annoyance and surliness, which is both entertaining and satisfying. He’s already becoming so predictable.
“Ohhh, that Daniel.”
“Do you know a lot of Daniels, Ms. Season?” Impatience gets the best of him. It’s glorious. I want to tell him that this is why we let people do their jobs and follow the rules, but I bite my tongue. Knowing he’s squirming on the other end is satisfying enough.
For now, at least.
I shrug despite him or anyone else being able to see me. “It’s not an uncommon name.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His tone is rough and raw, and I imagine his jaw flexing with irritation. There’s something ridiculously hot about that.
I gulp, hoping he can’t hear it, though it’s so loud in my ears that I’m now worried they can hear me swallowing in Half Moon Bay. “I’m sure you didn’t call to chat about the commonalities of your name, Mr. Sutton. How can I help you?”
“Despite what you might think, Ms. Season, I’m not so arrogant that I can’t admit when I’m wrong.”
I look around like there might be a camera hidden somewhere. There are miles and thousands of trees between us, but it sure feels like his eyes are on me. “Is this a setup?”
He chuckles, the edge of his annoyance dissolving. “It’s not a setup.”
“Oh. Okay. This is a good start.” I start driving toward home.
“I was wrong.” A man who can own up to his errors in life? I approve. “It’s the shower.”
I burst out laughing before he finishes speaking. I knew it. As my inner champion does another victory lap, I say, “Fine. I’ll be right over.”
Sure, I might be as smug as a bear that just got away with the honey, but at least I didn’t say I told you so. Yet.
CHAPTER 4
DANIEL SUTTON
“Itold you so,” Summer says as soon as I open the door. You’d think she’d won the Stanley Cup after shit-talking all season with that self-righteous smirk in place. It’s something I’m personally familiar with since that was me in the third season of my career.
And fourth.
Ninth.
Eleventh . . . fuck it. It’s every season.
Attitude shapes her body, her hand planted firmly on a kicked-out hip, giving those curves a nice S in the same fitted pale-blue dress she was wearing earlier. It’s short, how I like them, showing off her great legs and shoulders, fantastic tits, and hips to hold.
The swim trunks I’m stuck wearing until I can shower don’t exactly hide anything, so it’s not wise for me to continue thinking about my new landlord’s body or imagining holding her in certain positions. I drag my eyes back up to catch her staring at me.
Parted plush pink lips send my thoughts right to how they’d look wrapped around me. Blue eyes, brighter than the dress but softer than the sky, are fixed on my bare abs, inspiring me to run my hand over all eight of them.