Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Getting snowed in with a smart, funny, ambitious, beautiful woman was not part of the plan. But here we are.
CHAPTER 8
She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain
Wheeler
I head into the living room and promptly draw up short.
Duke is facing away from me, crouched in front of the fireplace. His hoodie draws taut over his shoulder blades and back as he makes quick work of building a fire in the massive fireplace.
I watch, transfixed by the bunch and release of his shoulder muscles. Exactly how does he fill out that sweatshirt so damn well? This cowboy is thick, solid, in a way few men are.
The logs crackle and pop as the fire grows.
I feel the throb between my thighs grow too. Allowing myself to be honest for a second, I have to admit that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The ride today was nerve-racking, sure, but it was also a lot of freaking fun. Duke is excellent company. He’s also a gentleman. I kept offering to drive, but he waved me off, even though I knew he had to be tired. Even though he joked about not having time for stops, he made sure I was comfortable, asking several times if I needed a bathroom or stretch break.
I’ll only drink a little bit. One glass of wine. Two tops. Surely we’ll be ready to go to bed by then, right?
Go to our separate beds.
“Hey,” Duke says.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying very hard to ignore the way my nipples tingle at the sound of his voice.
“Hey. Hi. Since you’re, um, busy with that, why don’t I make the grilled cheese?”
He’s still crouching, elbows on his knees as he glances at me over his shoulder. “I got it.”
Oh, dear sweet Jesus. The man is wearing glasses.
Duke is, I mean. Not Jesus, at least not as far as I know. They’re simple, with round lenses and a black plastic frame that fades to brown at the bottom of the lenses.
Damn does he look good in them.
Really, really good, like some kind of Robert Redford–coded rugged professor of postmodern literature.
Since when am I tempted to make passes at a guy who wears glasses?
“Teamwork, remember?” Looking away, I head for the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us. “I like the glasses, by the way.”
“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “My eyes were killing me, so I had to take out my contacts.”
“Really. Why? Do you not like them?”
“Hell no. That’s why I never wear ’em. I think they make me look like a dork.”
“Dorks are cool now.”
He grins. “If you say so.”
The windows are blank, reflecting the lights inside the house. The wind howls. I nearly jump when the house is hit by a gust, a crackling sound reverberating through the windows.
I freeze. “What’s that?”
“Sleet.” Duke’s knees crack as he rises. “No biggie. Trust me when I say this house has seen much worse.”
The ceiling creaks. I look up. “You sure about that?”
“Aspen’s snowstorms ain’t got nothin’ on Hartsville’s tornadoes.” He casually pads over to the kitchen like we’re not facing the real possibility of a snow-induced apocalypse. “I’m sure. Wine?”
“Yes.”
He smirks as he starts opening cabinets. “You gettin’ the shakes?”
“Yeah, I’m getting the shakes.” I glance at the windows. “Maybe this really is our last night on earth.”
“God’s got an awful sense of humor if that’s the case, making us drink this shit on our way out.” Duke reaches for the boxed wine. “Hopefully it’s not too bad.”
It’s actually decent. I down my first glass while I make the grilled cheese. Duke once again proves himself to be a marvelous assistant. He softens the butter in the microwave. He digs a spatula out of a nearby drawer. He finds plates, napkins, and a serrated knife, which he uses to cut the sandwiches into neat diagonals.
He also looks really cute with wine-stained lips. And the glasses—
It’s almost too much.
He picks my brain about the finances of a trunk show as we eat at the counter. I’ve never met someone as interested in accounting as Duke is except, well, my actual accountant. It’s weirdly sexy.
So is the way he inhales my grilled cheese. I’m glad I made extra. Only when I assure him I’m full does he grab seconds.
“You good?” He wipes his mouth on a napkin.
I nod. “I’m great.” I’m just tipsy enough to add, “Should we slap the bag now that we have a solid carb base?”
I mean, why not, right? I’ve been texting with the owners of Aspen Leather Company, and they said chances are our trunk show is going to have to be pushed back. Last I checked, snow totals for downtown Aspen went from twelve inches to eighteen, with locally heavier snow amounts possible.
Duke grins, and then he takes our plates before standing up. “I thought you’d never ask. Go sit. I’ll clean up.”