Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Did I think it was odd that he was touching me? Not at all. We’d stood earlier by my stall at the festival in full view of anyone who bothered to look, with my hand on his chest and his over mine.
At the moment, he was being so gentle with me, his voice sultry and sexy, his eyes heated pools of cobalt, that I was losing track of our conversation. “What?” I whispered.
He chuckled, and his smug laughter was all male because he knew—no way to miss it—that he was having a brain-numbing effect on me. He got up and sat down beside me, took my wineglass, and set it down next to his beer. He then looked at his niece. “Go hang the bells, please, then move the witch’s ladder and check on your father.”
“I—yes. Okay.” She darted from the room.
I could barely breathe as he took my chin in his hand, lifting it so I had to look up into his eyes from a very short distance.
“This might come as a surprise to you, but the day I was introduced to the town, I noticed you in the crowd and decided right then and there that I was going to talk to you.”
His words made no sense, so it took me a moment. “You did?”
“But while I was looking at you and thinking how you stuck out from the crowd with how luminous you were—”
“You thought I was luminous?”
“—all you did was scowl at me.”
I couldn’t have heard him right. “I’m sorry?”
“Are you apologizing for the glaring you were doing that day, or do you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
“I certainly did not scowl at you,” I assured him, wanting to be closer, pressing, trying to move my leg without him noticing, thinking maybe I could get into his lap. “You’re the scowler, not me.”
His lazy, sexy grin brought a sound out of me, from deep in my chest, that I wasn’t proud of—a whine and squeak simultaneously.
“Well, from that first day on, I have stopped to talk to you a million times, and not once have you ever seemed happy about it. And I wave whenever I see you, and get nothing back.”
I squinted at him. “Why would I wave at you when you might give me a ticket for endangering your life by distracting you while you’re driving?”
“What?”
“You say you stop to talk to me, but you’re always scolding me or warning me or threatening me.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I insisted.
“I just worry about you, is all.”
He worried? All that grouchiness was concern? I was supposed to be perceptive, but somehow, I’d missed that. “You do?”
“Of course. You think you can carry six-foot pieces of plywood on the front of your bike, but you can’t. Why don’t you ever ask for help?”
“From you?”
“Yes, from me. I tell you that all the time.”
He told me all the time? He’d offered his help? “Are you sure you were conveying that, or was this happening in your head?”
The chuckle was filthy, and his warm hand moved from my chin to around the back of my neck.
“I…if I would have gotten any of that, the concern, the offers of help, I certainly would have been different with you.” I could barely form words, as breathless as I was. “I will wave from now on, because really, I’m a nice person, and I want you…want to be nice to you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed, his thumb sliding over my jaw. “You’re a very nice person, a sweet person.”
I groaned softly. “Maybe not sweet.”
“Oh no? I bet you are. Let’s see.”
Terrible line. Really atrocious. But I could not find it in myself to care when he leaned forward and kissed me.
I wasn’t some inexperienced ingenue—or whatever the male equivalent was—who didn’t know anything about kissing. I knew all about that. And sex and everything else in between. Or I thought so. Certainly. But the thing was, Lor knew more than I did. I could tell. He definitely must have kissed a lot of people to be so amazing, making my heart stop and start with such ease.
Being pressed to his chest, held in his arms, I never wanted that to end. He wanted me, and I felt it in each ravenous, drugging kiss that was grinding and gentle, but more than anything, utterly, completely devouring. His tongue rubbed over mine, slowly, decadently, and my skin got hot, my bones went liquid, and all I could think was how ready and willing I was.
There was food being made, and a teenager somewhere, but there was so much heat and ache, and I knew my clothes were the only things keeping me from flying apart. When he broke the kiss and licked his lips, my moan was nearly a sob.
“As expected,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re very sweet.”