Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 61(@200wpm)___ 49(@250wpm)___ 41(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 61(@200wpm)___ 49(@250wpm)___ 41(@300wpm)
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." I give him a warm smile. "Come on in."
He steps inside, and I close the door behind him. My house is still a mess of half-unpacked boxes, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on me, trailing down my body.
I'm wearing an old, faded T-shirt and leggings, so it's not like I've made too much effort to impress him. I want him to think this thing between us is happening organically, not something I’ve planned. Still, his gaze is intense—almost hungry—and I feel a blush creeping across my cheeks.
"It's good to see you," he says.
His voice is like melted caramel. Deep and rich and sweet. I want to bottle it up and pour it all over me.
"It's good to see you, too," I reply.
We stand there, staring at each other for a moment before I realize I'm being rude.
"Right! Uh... come on up to the attic. It's this way."
I lead him upstairs, and we walk into the attic. The room is enormous, with exposed beams and huge windows that let in an abundance of natural light. It's beautiful.
He steps forward, taking it all in. "Wow, this is amazing. You could easily set up your studio here."
"That's the plan," I say with a grin.
He moves around the room, inspecting the walls and ceiling, checking the structural integrity. I watch him from a distance, admiring the way his shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and his jeans hug his muscular thighs. He's gorgeous, but he also looks so at home here, like he belongs in a space like this.
After a moment, he turns back to me.
"I think I can make it work," he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It'll take some time, and you'll probably need to replace some of the insulation..."
As he continues his assessment, I let my mind wander. What would it be like to have him work on me? To feel those strong, calloused hands against my skin? To hear his voice whispering in my ear?
My cheeks flush with heat. This is exactly why I've always had such a crush on him. He's gorgeous and sweet and funny, but he's also a damn good worker. I bet he'd be even better in the bedroom...
Owen snaps me out of my fantasy by clapping his hands together.
"All right," he says. "I'm going to head home and get started on some blueprints."
Oh. I wasn't aware this would be over so quickly, and I'm not ready for it to end. I've got to think on my feet. Thankfully, I have a wellspring of information about Owen after growing up with him, which makes him particularly vulnerable to my genius manipulations.
Or, to put it more simply, Owen Mitchell would go to the ends of the earth for food.
"Why don't you stay for lunch? I was about to order pizza." He turns, and I can see his interest is piqued, but I have to take it one step further if I want to hook him. No national chains are going to do it, but maybe a legendary local spot will. "Giordanos?"
"They still deliver all the way out here?"
Bingo.
"Yep, and I'm starving," I say, stretching my arms over my head to show off some skin."I bet you are, too, after working hard all morning."
His eyes follow my movement, lingering on the sliver of stomach my shirt exposes. But he shakes his head as if to clear it. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll just go downstairs and start sketching some plans while we wait."
"Great!" I give him an extra bright smile before turning away. "I'll let you know when it arrives."
Downstairs, I call in the order, then slip off my shoes and pad barefoot over to where Owen sits at the kitchen island, drawing with pencil on a sketchpad. He looks up at me.
"Do you have any paper towels? I think I tracked sawdust on your floor."
"Oh, no worries. It's just gonna get dirty again anyway. No point in wasting a perfectly good paper towel on it."
He laughs. "If you say so. But if you change your mind, I can help."
I shake my head, my eyes sparkling. "I won't."
I go to the fridge and pour two glasses of lemonade, then slide one across the island. Owen takes a long sip before continuing his work. There's something about watching him draw, seeing how his mind works, that turns me on even more. He's focused and precise, putting all his attention into every little detail. It's sexy as hell.
We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes until the doorbell rings. I go to answer it and, a moment later, return with a large pizza, setting it down on the island.
"Don’t burn yourself. I can feel the heat through the box," I warn.
Owen gives me a crooked grin. "I like it hot."
I can feel my cheeks heating up at his double entendre. He must notice because he chuckles and goes back to sketching. I open the box and pull out a slice of pepperoni, biting into it. The rich, savory flavor explodes in my mouth, and I can't help but moan softly. Owen glances up at me again.