Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
The next morning, I’m positive there’s no way Cole can top himself, but I am, as usual, completely wrong.
He wakes me up by placing soft kisses on my temple. “Rise and shine, Montana. I’m taking you to the Riviera.”
For a good three seconds, I think he means the actual French Riviera, and my sleep-fogged brain tries to figure out how we’re going to get to Europe.
I glare at him from under my pillow. “What’s your fascination with getting up before dawn on our vacation?”
“I don’t want to waste any time.” He’s like a kid in a candy store. “I have so much to show you before we head home.”
My heart warms as I realize he already considers The Rolling R Ranch his home. “Give me five minutes to wake up, and I’ll be ready to go,” I tell him as I slip out of bed.
“I’m sure I can find some way to wake you up.” He smirks and runs his finger down the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. When he covers my lips with his, I forget all about our plans for the day.
One second, his mouth is on mine, his hands sliding up under my shirt to palm my tits, and the next, I’m pinned against the wall, toes barely touching the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist because, honestly, there’s no chance I’m making it down the hall under my own power.
“We’re going to be late,” I groan against his lips.
Cole just grins, all alpha male and pure Texas sin. “The Riviera isn’t going anywhere.” He squeezes my ass and grinds against me, cock already hard against my thigh. “We can be a few minutes late.”
A few minutes turn into two hours, because apparently I have zero self-control when it comes to my husband’s hands.
After two weeks in Silver Spoon Falls, my jeans are tighter, my caffeine tolerance is off the charts, and my brain is permanently rewired for this town’s special brand of insanity. I’m not complaining. Texas suits me. I can’t wait to spend a few months here every year. We take the family private jet back to Montana.
I barely remember the landing because Cole spends the entire flight distracting me in every possible way. By the time we step off the jet, my lips are swollen, my hair is a disaster, and my body feels like it’s been put through a high-speed spin cycle. I can’t stop grinning.
Grams is waiting at the little local airport, arms crossed, lips pursed like she’s trying not to smile. The second Cole helps me down the steps, she huffs, “Glad you two are home,” but her eyes are brighter than I’ve seen them in years.
We pile into my truck, Cole insisting on driving, and his palm settles on my thigh where it stays for the entire ride. Every time he squeezes, my pulse jumps.
The moment we pull up to the ranch house, I swear, my heart damn near leaps clear out of my chest. I never thought coming home to Montana would feel this good, but here we are.
Cole hops out of the truck and hustles around to open my door. His hand is hot and solid as he helps me down. “Home sweet home, Mrs. Carrington.” He grins, and honestly, the possessive tone in his voice does crazy things to my insides. Then he moves to the back door and helps Grams out.
“I’m going work on dinner,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for the front door. I blink as the screen door slams. Cole’s hand is already on my lower back, hot and heavy, like he’s staking a claim. Not that I’m complaining. The second the door clicks shut behind Grams, he crowds me up against the side of my truck, his mouth finding that spot under my ear that makes my knees buckle. Holy hell.
“You know what I missed most about Montana?” he growls, voice molten honey, lips dragging along my jaw.
I try to think, but my brain’s not functioning. “Thunderbolt? The endless work?”
He laughs, low and wicked. His teeth graze my earlobe, and my pulse spikes so hard I nearly faint. “Nope. It’s home.” He kisses me, deep and dirty, digging his hands into my ass. I melt completely, turning into a puddle of desperate want.
I thread my fingers through his thick, dark hair and pull his head down until our foreheads touch. "I love you," I whisper, my breath warming the sliver of air between our lips. My voice catches as I add, "My home is wherever you are."
His eyes—those deep, stormy blue pools that first caught me in that Montana diner—crinkle at the corners. "Ditto," he murmurs, his calloused thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone before he captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes like promise and forever.