Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Most people ooh and ahh and take a million pictures, overwhelmed by the majestic beauty of the mountains. Sweeping views of Mt. Baker give way to breathtaking glimpses of the valley below, with rivers snaking their way through the countryside. Cordy doesn't drink it all in. She cowers in her seat, shrinking into herself the deeper into the middle of nowhere we get.
It's not a peaceful silence, either. It's loud as hell. I don't like it much.
"You don't spend much time outdoors, do you?" I growl fifteen minutes from the cabin. The question pops out sounding accusatory.
"No," she says, her voice small. "Never."
Well, hell. I should turn around and take her right back down the mountain. I knew before I ever loaded her three suitcases in my Jeep that she didn't belong out here…but I loaded them anyway. I want her in my space, filling it with her sweet laughter and cheerful rambling. It's a foreign desire, one far outside of my wheelhouse, but I want it, nonetheless.
"Why'd you want the job then, Sunshine?"
"I can do this job, Deacon," she says firmly. "I started my business my senior year of college. I may not look the part up here, but I'm one of the best at what I do because I understand firsthand what it takes to run a small business."
What the fuck?
"Never said you couldn't, Cordelia. I just asked why you took the job." There's something she isn't saying, a reason she's so anxious. I want to know what it is.
She shivers, snuggling deeper into her coat. "Drunk Me read your ad and decided that you sounded like you could use my skills," she says.
"Nell," I growl.
"Who is Nell?"
"Sister."
"Ah." Her lips twitch. "Now, I understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why that groove between your eyes seems permanent." She giggles, the sweetest fucking sound that goes straight to my cock. "This wasn't your idea at all, was it?"
"Nope."
"Why do you even need an assistant?"
"You'll see in about five minutes," I mutter.
Her lips part into a little O, her expression turning curious. She still doesn't look comfortable, but she doesn't look completely terrified now. It's progress. But I still want to know what she's hiding behind those pretty eyes. I have a feeling it's what really led her to take this job. I don't think there's a chance in hell she'd be up here otherwise.
I take the next cutoff, plunging deep into the woods. Low-hanging, icy branches brush against the roof of the Jeep. Cordelia jumps, reaching for the Oh, shit handle.
"Almost there," I say.
"No more Moscato ever again," she mutters under her breath.
We ride in silence as the road to the house narrows, winding deeper into the heart of the Cascades. Shadows creep in, daylight fading early this far north, especially under centuries worth of tree cover.
Cordelia grows restless, shifting this way and that in her seat as if she can't get comfortable. She opens her mouth four different times to say something and then snaps it closed again.
As soon as we round the bend and the cabin comes into view, she sits forward in her seat, studying it intently. It's not glamorous. The single-story log cabin is 700 square feet, with a gabled roof and a small front porch. The two bedrooms in the back share a bathroom between them, with the rest of the cabin reserved for the living room and kitchen. I eat at the island in the kitchen. Like I said, not glamorous.
But it's mine. I built it myself during the worst of the PTSD. I worked until I was too tired to function every day, trying to exhaust my mind into silence so I could sleep at night. Didn't work most days but having something other than the memories to focus on helped get me through the hardest days.
"This is where you live?" Cordelia asks after a moment, glancing over at me.
"Yep." I pull up in front of the cabin and cut the engine.
"Did you build it?"
"I did. Six years ago."
"It's beautiful, Deacon," she says softly.
"Thanks," I grunt, pocketing the keys. "Come on. Let's get you inside before it gets dark. You aren't dressed for the weather up here in that little bitty dress." I shake my head. "Hope to hell you brought warmer clothes, Sunshine. This ain't Seattle."
"Really? I never would have guessed," she says, her voice saccharine.
I narrow my eyes at her, but she only bats her lashes at me, her expression full of mischievous innocence. I want to kiss the little smirk off her lips. No, that's not true. What I want to do is mess those curls up while I'm kissing that smirk off her lips. Preferably while she's got those thighs wrapped around my hips and I'm drilling into her.
A memory of her lacy pink panties stretched across her round ass pops into my mind. I tuck and roll from the Jeep like my life depends on it. How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off this girl for the next two weeks? Fuck if I know. It's been an hour and I'm already in hell.