Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 775(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
That was true.
He just didn’t care. Not anymore.
There was no going back. There might have been before that kiss . . . before she’d doctored his hand . . . before he’d found her on the side of the road.
However, now there was none at all.
Remy wasn’t a man who wanted much. But when he decided that something was his . . . he didn’t let go.
“She is. Can you tow it to the garage in town? I’ve called them to let them know it’s coming.”
The tow driver frowned but nodded. “Does Loki know?”
“Apparently, he’s out in the woods.”
“Ahh, yeah, must have needed some quiet time.”
Right.
If Loki had to leave, then someone else should be looking after her.
“Send the bill to me,” he told the man once the SUV was loaded up.
“No need. Isa doesn’t pay.”
What?
“What do you mean, she doesn’t pay?” he asked.
“Uh, Loki owns the company. So Isa doesn’t pay.”
He stared in surprise as the older man left. Loki owned the tow truck company? As well as the garbage company?
What the hell?
Shaking his head, he headed into town. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.
Something important.
Forty minutes later, Remy walked up to the house. A really nice house on what was likely a big piece of land.
All owned by Loki?
Whenever Remy had encountered the other man, he’d almost seemed manic. Hyped-up. No, that wasn’t fair. There had been other times where he hadn’t seemed so wild. Like when Georgie was in the hospital, and he’d come with Isa to see her.
That Loki had been watchful. Protective.
But where is he now? Isa was on her own with a bunch of psycho chickens.
Yeah, he wasn’t going to admit it to her . . . but those chickens were definitely demons from hell.
Remy reached the front door. He thought about knocking, but decided to check whether she’d locked the door.
He wasn’t surprised to find that she had not.
Frowning, he walked into the house. A wave of music hit him and he stared into the kitchen in surprise. Isa was in there. Her hair was now up in a messy bun and she had a flour-coated apron wrapped around her. She was singing along loudly.
And she sounded like a freaking angel.
How did he not know that she could sing like that? He couldn’t do anything but stand there and listen to her. Until, finally, she caught sight of him there.
His frown deepened. Reaching over, she grabbed her phone and turned the music off.
“Uh, hi.”
“I could have been an axe murderer,” he told her.
“Oh, was that one of your life goals? You know . . . you probably would have been really good at it. Although I don’t know that an axe is a good weapon. You’d have to stand awfully close to your victim to kill them, and then your dry cleaning bill would be massive. Ooh, unless you could throw the axe. That might be a possibility for you. You look like you’d be a good axe thrower.”
“And what does a good axe thrower look like?” he asked.
She grinned, her eyes dancing and he decided he liked her this way. Carefree. Just having fun.
“You, of course.”
He groaned, shaking his head. “I walked right into that too, didn’t I?”
She giggled.
He shook his head and walked over with the bags of groceries.
“These are your groceries.”
“Um, groceries?” She frowned in confusion. “I didn’t order any groceries.”
“You need them. Your cupboards are bare.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t really cook, though. So I don’t need food.”
“You don’t cook?” He glanced down pointedly at the batter she was pouring into baking pans. The house smelled delicious. Like vanilla and sugar.
“This isn’t cooking, it’s baking. There’s a difference.”
“You still need to eat.” He started unpacking the grocery bags.
“I know. That’s why take-out was invented. And cupcakes!” She held one up. “Want one? This is a new flavor I’ve been working on. I’ve already taste-tested too many.” She rubbed her tummy.
“You’ve given yourself a tummy ache?”
“Um. Maybe just a small one. Try it?”
“Don’t usually eat sweet things,” he said. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”
He wondered if she understood the double meaning.
The way her eyes widened, he thought she did. Instead of taking the cupcake from her hand, he leaned forward and bit into it, his eyes on her.
He swallowed as she watched, entranced.
“Delicious,” he said.
“It’s . . . it’s Mexican hot chocolate flavor. There’s a bit of a zing of heat.”
“I like a bit of spice.”
She swallowed heavily. “Sure. Right. Uh-huh.”
“But no more cupcakes for you,” he told her. “You need to eat some real food.”
She looked tired. And every so often, she’d rub at her neck as though it was hurting her.
“Sore?”
“Um, yeah. I guess it’s from the accident. I just need to push through.”
“I’ll make us some food, then I’ll help you.”