Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Is it?” she says with a soft smile, patting her hair. “You know how to plait hair?”
“I’ve two sisters, don’t I?”
She nods, a little flushed. And then she turns around and stands primly in front of me. With an arm wrapped around her waist, I tug her onto my lap. She giggles, actually giggles, and a surge of something like pride swells through my chest.
I made Erin Kavanagh giggle.
I loosen her hair and let it tumble over her shoulders. I can’t help myself. I brush it off her neck, bend, and kiss her just there. She lets out a half sigh, half moan and leans further back against me.
I run my fingers through her hair. It’s soft and fragrant and a little damp, like she tossed it up after a shower. I exhale. Touching her like this loosens something in my chest.
I move her hair further and kiss her neck again. When she sighs and leans back into me, I turn her around, tip her head back, and kiss along the column of her neck to her collarbone.
Her eyes flutter closed.
“Tell me to stop.”
“You're not going to,” she whispers.
“Not unless you tell me to.”
Her hand comes up, fingers grazing the scar along my jaw. Tentative. Testing. “I don't want you to stop.”
That's all I need.
I pull her closer to me, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her hip as she straddles me. Her lips part in surprise, and I take full advantage, kissing her hard—claiming her mouth like I've wanted to since she walked into this garden, looking soft and rumpled in that oversized jumper.
She makes a sound in the back of her throat, and Christ, it goes straight through me.
For a second, she's frozen. Then her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and she's kissing me back like she's been thinking about this too. Like she's been holding back just as much as I have.
I lift her jumper and slide my palm higher up, over the soft swell of her belly. She gasps against my mouth. I take advantage, deepening the kiss, tasting her. Her nails dig into my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt, anchoring herself.
“Cavin,” she breathes out when I break away to kiss along her jaw, down the side of her neck. Her head tips back, giving me access, and fuck me, the trust in that gesture alone nearly undoes me.
“Say it again,” I murmur against her throat.
“Cavin.” It's barely a whisper this time, and I feel it more than hear it.
My second hand slides under the hem of her jumper, fingers splaying across the bare skin of her waist. She's soft there, warm. She shivers under my touch, and I grin against her neck.
“Cold?”
“No.” Her voice is breathless. “Definitely not cold.”
I pull back just enough to look at her—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes dark and dilated. She looks thoroughly ravaged, and we've barely started.
“Thought you were a good girl,” I whisper.
“Only for you.”
She pulls me back down, kissing me again—slower this time, exploring. Her tongue traces my bottom lip, and I groan. My hand slides higher under her jumper, my thumb brushing the underside of her ribs, and she arches into the touch.
Christ, I could do this all day. Just kiss her. Touch her. Learn every sound she makes, every curve of her body, every secret place that makes her melt.
But then she pulls back, breathing hard, resting her forehead against mine. “Cavin…”
“What?”
“I really do have work.”
I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing under control. “Right. Work.”
“And I…”
“We should wait,” I whisper. “Wait to go further.”
Why does the wedding that seemed too fuckin' close suddenly feel like it's years away?
She nods against me, but her fingers are still twisted in my shirt. Neither of us moves.
“You're making it very hard to be good,” she says finally.
“That's rich, coming from you.” I press one more kiss to her temple and set her on her feet, forcing myself to step back. “You taste like honey.”
She blinks up at me, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed. “I had honey on toast.”
“Course you did.” I can't help smiling. I brush a thumb across her bottom lip, and she shivers. “Come on, then. Before I change my mind about being honorable.”
“Honorable?” She raises an eyebrow as I take her hand, leading her toward the gate. “Is that what we're calling it?”
“Would you prefer 'desperate'? Because that's the other option.”
She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound does something dangerous to my chest. “I'll bring you home,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers. “But you're sitting close in the truck.”
“How close?”
“Close enough I can still smell honey.”
She ducks her head, but I catch the smile. “You're flirting, Cavin McCarthy.”
“Aye.” I open the gate for her, then pull her against my side as we walk. “But you like it.”