Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I woke the next morning with Viggo’s arm draped over my stomach, his lips tickling my ear, his dick nudging my thigh. I grumbled about the bed being so small and cuddled closer. He welcomed me, pulling my back against his bare chest and holding me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The butterflies struck with a vengeance.
Then he was inside, moving so slowly, so tenderly, I thought I could crumble under the weight of the sweetness. The feel of muscular arms, rough hands, and the scratch of a thick beard were a potent contrast to his sensual touch. I didn’t ever want it to end. Seriously. I would have happily canceled our plans to attend Gilbert’s party and stayed in bed all day.
Viggo, however, declared we had fish to catch.
I protested. It was too early, the bed was warm, the sun had barely kissed the horizon, we needed caffeine and fuel…and what about more sex?
Viggo found two thermoses for our coffee and a small cooler for our toasted bagels with cream cheese. We grabbed sweatshirts, the tackle box, and the two rods we’d rented the day before and set out for the boat tied to the dock.
I hadn’t been fishing in…forever, and honestly, I was fine with that. I associated the pastime with sharp hooks, slimy worms, ugly dead-eyed fish, sunburn, and acute boredom. The last one was the worst. Viggo didn’t agree.
“The quiet is the best part,” he insisted. “It’s a chance to connect with nature.”
“By sticking a pole in the water?”
He shook his head and spoke softly. So softly, it was hard to hear him. His voice alone was therapeutic. “It’s a form of meditation. You have to be in the moment, ready for anything to happen—or nothing at all. If your mind starts to spin, you cast and reel and relax. Concentrate on being here with me, and you won’t worry about your mother. Trust me.”
It was tempting to argue that my mother was the last person on my mind, but it was eerie to think he knew me better than that already. Either I was an open book, or Viggo had me figured out. Both options were unflattering, so I dropped the subject, shut my mouth, and…fished.
Twenty minutes in, I felt a tug on my line. “I caught something.”
“Reel it in. Good.” Viggo pulled my rod toward him, unhooked a spotted fish and held it up. “Want to hold it?”
“Absolutely not. I—wait. What are you doing?” I sputtered as he gently lowered the fish into the lake. “You’re throwing it back?”
“No, you never throw it. That would be cruel. But I let it go ’cause it was too small. It’s okay. We’ll keep trying.”
I groaned. “You’re killing me. Fine. I’ll catch a bigger fucking fish.”
“Or maybe I will.”
“Nope. I got this.”
Viggo rolled his eyes and made a mini production of rolling up his sleeves. I snickered at his antics and willed fish to jump on my line. Nothing happened. But I felt my shoulders slip into place surrounded by birdsong, lapping water, and the glint of refracted light shining like diamonds on the lake’s surface. I sneaked a glance at Viggo’s strong profile and smiled.
He had a funny effect on me, that was for sure.
If Viggo hadn’t come with me, I’d be at the big house, ensconced in luxurious guest quarters, enjoying a ginormous breakfast in bed. I probably would have been thinking about going for a run, working on recipes, and dreaming up a few new odd flavor combinations to scandalize Wood Hollow’s donut connoisseurs.
I wouldn’t have told my mother my news yet. She was bound to say something I wouldn’t like. And vice versa, I supposed. We didn’t communicate well. We tended to speak in circles, unable to absorb meaning, unwilling to compromise. But I didn’t want to begin my journey as a parent by shutting her out, so here I was…with my new friend, my new lover.
Maybe it was selfish of me to bring Viggo, but he was steady as a rock: dependable, unmovable. And Christ, he was hot and surprisingly sweet and—
Viggo sensed my stare and furrowed his brow. I laughed when he rolled his eyes and glanced away…but not before I caught his smile.
Yeah, I could handle the butterflies.
CHAPTER 21
VIGGO
Agarden party at a gigantic lake house on steroids was not my idea of fun. First of all, there were too many people. It didn’t seem possible to have fifty or sixty friends willing to travel to a northern outpost in the wilderness for a weekend of revelry. Secondly, everyone was casually dressed yet dripping in diamonds, Rolexes, and Prada shades. I didn’t own anything fancy, but I knew better than to show up at Dexter’s side in worn-out jeans and a tee.
And I admit I’d enjoyed the hell out of Dex’s response to my blue oxford shirt and khaki getup.