Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Her quiet intake of breath sent heat streaking through my body, but the softness in her voice wrapped a different kind of warmth around something in me I hadn’t even realized had grown cold. “Um…okay.”
“No sass?” I teased.
“It’s late,” she replied with a haughty sniff, although her tone was full of laughter. “My cheeky personality is already asleep.”
I chuckled as I unlocked my door and entered my overly quiet condo.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” I asked softly.
“Same as usual,” she sighed, but there was a smile in her voice. “It’s crazy around here right before the fall festival. Although it doesn’t really slow down until after Christmas.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I informed her.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t, Clara,” I interrupted. “It’s where I want to be.”
She was silent for a long pause, then whispered, “Okay. I’d like to see you. I…Imissedyoutoday.” The last part rushed out so fast it was like one long word. Like she’d shored up all her courage to admit it. I had no doubt she was blushing hard, and it made me wonder just how much of her body would be covered with that pretty, pink glow. I’d find out soon.
Not soon enough if my cock had anything to say about it. However, my brain insisted that I go slow, and the thought of moving too fast and scaring her away was enough to have me listening to the logic.
She yawned, and I smiled, already picturing her curled up in bed, warm and soft. Fucking hell, I was dying to ride over there and join her, even if all I did was hold her in my arms. But I had to be real with myself…I’d never get through the night being that close to her and not taking things further.
Mentally, I sighed. “Get some sleep, baby.”
“Goodnight, Ronan,” she whispered, her sweet voice wrapping around me.
When I disconnected the call, the exhaustion from earlier was completely forgotten. All I felt now was a fierce sense of purpose and the unmistakable certainty that protecting Clara had just become my number one priority.
6
CLARA
The next afternoon, I was wrestling a bale onto the wagon we used for the hay rides when the low rumble of a motorcycle rolled up the gravel drive. I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. My stomach did the same silly flip as it had the day before yesterday when Ronan showed up at the farm.
I straightened, brushing straw off my jeans, and watched him park beside the barn. When he pulled his helmet off, I grinned at how mussed his hair was. He popped down the kickstand, swung a leg over the bike, and headed straight for me.
“You’re back.” I tried to sound casual, but the catch in my voice gave me away. He’d told me as much last night on the phone, but sometimes it was still hard to believe someone like him was interested in me.
“Told you I would be.” He stopped a few feet away, his steely gaze sweeping over the wagon, the bales, and me. “Need a hand?”
I gestured at the mess. “If you’re offering to organize hay again, who am I to say no?”
He grabbed the nearest bale and hefted it like fifty-plus pounds was nothing, setting it along the wagon’s side wall where people would sit for the hay rides. I watched for a moment, appreciating the bunching of the muscles, before I jumped in beside him. We worked in an easy rhythm, with me directing placement and him lifting and stacking.
Ronan didn’t complain or act like manual labor was beneath him. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
By the time the wagon was situated how I wanted it, sweat had darkened his shirt across his shoulders, and I was fighting the urge to stare at the way his arms flexed every time he moved.
Dusting the hay off his hands, he glanced over at the pumpkin patch. “Looks good.”
“Thanks.” I pointed toward a stack of wood cutouts leaning against the side of the barn. “I’m going to set up the pumpkin one over there next.”
“What are they?” he asked, heading toward the barn.
“Fall-themed photo ops. They’re always popular during our fall festival days and get posted on social media a lot,” I explained. “Kids love sticking their faces through the holes.”
“Bet Cadell would love ’em.”
Thinking about the toddler son of the Hounds president and his wife, I nodded. “Only if he stood still long enough to actually have his photo taken.”
He shook his head with a deep chuckle. “True.”
“Maybe King and Stella will bring him, and then I’ll get to see how it goes.”
He lifted the top cut-out off the stack and turned the front toward me so I could see the picture of turkeys painted on the wood. “Where do you want this one?”