Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I feign indifference. “Oh, please. Tell me what’s on that brilliant football mind of yours.”
He’s unfazed. Too controlled. “I think you’re trying really hard not to let me know you liked it.”
I scoff. “Liked what?”
He tilts his head, voice dipping lower. “Me.”
“I think we’ve already established that I like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
Hmm, do I? “I’m not sure I’m following.”
“You like me like me.”
I snort this time. “What are we, five? Of course I like you.” I pause. “You’re fun. What’s not to like?”
The world around us disappears.
Harris stares at me, his jaw tight, his body tense in a way that tells me he’s already made a decision—one I don’t know if I’m prepared for. He exhales, low and controlled.
One second goes by.
Then another.
And another . . .
Tick.
Tick.
Boom.
Then he moves.
Before I can react, before I can process what’s happening, his hands are on me—strong. Steady. Decisive.
And then?
I’m off the ground, gasping in surprise.
“Harris—”
The bar erupts the same way they did earlier at the lake today when he jumped into the water with me.
I let out an undignified yelp, my hands gripping Harris’s shoulders, my body suddenly pressed against his chest as he hoists me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
I glare up at him. “Harris, I demand to be put down.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Nope.”
The door up ahead.
He’s headed straight for it.
Behind me, people are banging on tables. “Going Once, Going Twice—”
“And they’re outta here!”
If I said this wasn’t the most exciting, romantic thing that’s ever happened to me, I’d be lying. And the cold night air does nothing to cool the heat simmering between us the second the door swings shut.
Harris doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t falter. Just keeps moving, his grip firm, his chest solid beneath my palms.
I should be fighting this. Wriggling out of his hold, demanding he put me down so I can walk like a fully functional adult.
I should demand—again—to be put down. I should tell him he’s being ridiculous. That he made a scene back there and I’ll never live it down. That there is absolutely no reason for him to be carrying me bridal-style into the night.
But the truth is . . .
I don’t want him to let go.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, my body pressing closer, the traitorous part of me craving the warmth of him, the steady strength beneath my hands. Despite everything—the chaos, the spectacle, the way he hauled me out of that bar—being in his arms feels right.
It’s thrilling.
And I . . .
I belong there.
I stare up at him, my breath short. “Where the hell are you taking me?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he keeps walking—down the steep steps behind the resort, down the dimly lit path leading toward the lake . . . and the road. The night is quiet, save for the faint rustling of wind through the trees and the distant sounds of festivalgoers lingering in town and at the resort. But here, in the darkened path beneath the pines, it’s just us.
And Harris is determined.
His grip doesn’t falter. His pace doesn’t slow. He moves with purpose, his arms firm around me, jaw clenched. He knows damn well where he’s going.
I let him carry me farther, past the trees, the thick scent of pine filling my senses. The dirt path narrows beneath us, winding toward the lake, where the moon reflects silver against the glassy surface.
The air is crisp, but I barely feel it, wrapped in his warmth.
He shifts his grip, adjusting me slightly, and I try not to notice the way his fingers flex against my thigh or the way my body fits easily against his.
I clear my throat. “You realize this is completely insane, right?”
His lips twitch. “Is it? Hadn’t noticed.”
“No second thoughts? No regrets about abducting me?”
His smile deepens. “Nope.”
My glance moves from his face to focus on the path ahead as we leave the resort behind and approach the narrow road leading to the rental cottages tucked between the trees. Porch lights glow in the night, soft and warm, casting shadows over the gravel.
So pretty.
So peaceful . . .
Gravel crunches beneath his shoes. He pauses at the edge of the road, glancing left, then right, like we’re not in a tiny, peaceful town where the chances of getting run over at this hour are zero to none.
I use the moment to collect myself. My pulse is too loud, hammering against my ribs, and I can’t tell if it’s from the way he’s holding me or the fact that I haven’t demanded he put me down.
His little rental cottage comes into view, but he doesn’t head for the steps. Instead, he strides straight past it, moving toward the driveway, toward the parked truck. When we reach his truck, he finally slows. With one arm still wrapped securely around me, he reaches out and tugs open the tailgate with his free hand.