Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” she agrees. There’s a shy tilt to her thin smile I haven’t seen before. “Uh, so, about earlier…”
Earlier.
The kiss.
The attic fuckery, hot and heady and hungry.
Her lips on mine, stirring a thirst that had me kissing her back like I wanted her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“That was a fuckup, duchess. All mine,” I growl before I remember how good she tasted.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not fair.” She tucks her hands under her thighs. “Technically I kissed you. Remember?”
I wish to Almighty God I didn’t.
“You wouldn’t have done it if I’d kept my distance. That was my fault, and I don’t mean breaking your fall.”
The moment I caught her, I should’ve set her down and stepped back.
My hesitation cost us dearly.
“So what? You think that means I have no autonomy?” She cocks her head, her hair spilling across her shoulder. “A girl can’t make her own choices? She’s just helplessly dick-matized by the amazing Kane Saint?”
I snort loudly.
“I wasn’t thinking. I invited trouble,” I tell her. “It’s been a long damn time since I shared a space with a woman.”
Her blue eyes flare.
I have to look away before she starts asking too many questions.
Hell, before I’m tempted to answer them.
“We lost our heads. That’s it. Doesn’t have to be more complicated,” I finish, nodding for emphasis. “We were overwhelmed. It was a long-ass day, and—”
And her body was pure velvet against mine.
So inviting, calling my hands to every curve.
If she hadn’t put her mouth on mine, I might’ve erupted anyway.
I might’ve grabbed her bottom lip with my teeth and thieved every moan.
Her jumping me, that was a relief, if I’m brutally honest.
But it calcified my brain like an expired orange.
I can’t forget that.
She’s nodding with almost as much irritation.
“Never again,” she whispers.
“Never.”
Then she smiles, a little awkwardly, and looks out the window, into the night. But instead of stepping back and giving her space, my eyes stay glued to her.
The way her lips purse, the shyness on her face, the wicked thoughts that must be swirling in her head.
Margot Blackthorn isn’t innocent or introverted, but there’s hesitation there now.
And it’s fucking adorable.
Same for the way she glances at me, a little too fast, like she wasn’t expecting to find me watching her.
Damn.
But I’m a man who learns his lessons, and it’s time to fucking go. I stand up.
No more getting deep in her business, helping her look for whatever it is her gramps left behind now that we’ve scoured the attic. I’m sure she can reach the other places in the house.
No more getting too close.
No fucking more fantasizing about ripping her clothes off while I take my teeth to her skin, marking her from head to toe.
Good luck.
Not sure I can control that one when she’s around, looking like a wet dream made flesh, but I can try.
And if sharing an isolated house with a beautiful woman and only occasionally getting hard to dirty thoughts about her is the worst of it, that’s a victory.
As long as it doesn’t become reality.
From the relief in her eyes, she knows it, too.
We don’t need to drag this out when we’re on the same page.
Dan almost walking in on us mid-kiss was the wake-up call we needed.
“All right, I have some reading to do,” I say, jerking my thumb at the door and stepping back. She nods. “I left you a plate. You can heat it up later if you want.”
“Again?” Her confusion melts into something warmer. “Dude, you have to stop doing that.”
“What? Leaving you to starve for no good reason when we always have leftovers?”
“No,” she says, still a little soft, a little gentle. “Taking care of me, I mean.”
Oh, that.
That’s one more sign I really am the idiot who’s making this so hard.
Keeping her fed isn’t putting distance between us, is it?
And even if that’s another fucking fumble, even if I’m making our lives more intimate than they should be, we both know I’m not stopping.
Not as long as we’re under one roof, two prisoners to our own depraved desires.
9
HOMEWORK (MARGOT)
After the day I’ve had, there’s no freaking chance I’m getting any work done on my designs.
But I sit down at the desk anyway, stylus in hand. My tablet waits blankly in front of me like a mirror to my soul.
I want to focus on pretty shoes. Delicate heels and strappy sandals and pumps made with Cinderella-worthy class. Boots with so much sass they turn heads on a swivel, making every footstep a statement.
Wouldn’t boots like that fit Maine perfectly?
I’m not sure my heart will ever match my head when my muse whispers quietly. Right now, she’s being drowned out.
Kane.
Kane.
My unexpected white knight. Eighty percent devil and part-time gentleman.
Would the creeper have scattered for good without that big man charging out the door to protect us?
I wonder.
And I can’t wait to file a police report now, because even if I hadn’t seen him run past, the look on Kane’s face when he came back in, holding that lantern…