Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Thermostat is right next to the light switch, and there are extra blankets in the closet. I’ll leave you to settle in, but dinner will be ready within the next thirty minutes or so.”
Her gaze drifts from mine to the view beyond the glass wall, now a blanket of stars flickering to life in an endless sky. “Wow. It really is remote out here, huh?”
I follow her gaze, then reach into the room to flick the light on. “It is. You’re safe here with us, Roxie. I promise you that.”
The words are out before I even realize I’m about to say them. She looks up at me, those big, round eyes searching my face like she’s trying to read something in it. “You don’t even know me.”
“No, but I know trouble when I see it, and I suspect you’ve had enough of it to last a while.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment neither of us move. We just stand there, staring at each other, me wondering how a tiny thing like her could’ve gotten into the kind of trouble that’s chased her all the way out here, and her probably wondering if she can trust the word of a guy she’s just met who towers over her and is built like the Marine he isn’t anymore.
“Right,” she finally says. “I’ll be locking my door and sleeping with one eye open.”
“You can close both eyes here. I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”
She nods and slips past me into the guestroom. My hand brushes her arm as she passes, the touch light, barely there, but its enough to set something off under my skin, leaving it warm and wanting more.
Roxie freezes when it happens, and I hear her take a sharp breath. A second later, the door shuts behind her and I head back downstairs. When I get to the kitchen, Boone shoots me a look that says we needed to talk, and Dillon grins like the devil himself.
With the scent of garlic and onions already wafting through the air, I know she won’t be long, so I hold Boone’s gaze and shake my head. “Later.”
He glances up in the direction of the guestroom like he’s hoping to develop X-ray vision but then sighs and focuses his attention back on us. “Just take it easy, boys. She’s a beautiful woman and I’m pretty fascinated myself by where she came from, but this wasn’t fate FedExing us a girlfriend. She’s a very real person and something tells me she’s in very real trouble to boot. We need to be careful.”
Dillon nods. “I’m in very real trouble too, but fine. We’ll play it cool.”
I signal my agreement, then busy myself with setting the table while Dillon starts mixing some kind of batter for dessert and Boone gets back to work on dinner. By the time she comes back downstairs, she looks a little less like a runaway and a little more like someone who belongs at the table with us.
Her hair is damp and loose, tumbling in waves past her shoulders, her cheeks shiny and glowing with all the soot washed away. I almost do a double take when I see her, surprised at the strength of the attraction that rolls through me.
Boone sets down a skillet full of garlic butter chicken and potatoes in the middle of the table, and Dillon is already cracking open beers like he’s been waiting for an excuse to show off his hosting skills.
“This smells amazing,” she says, sounding half-starved and half-suspicious that something so normal could actually be happening to her.
“A man’s gotta eat.” Boone shrugs. “We might as well make it good.”
“Which is why he doesn’t trust me to cook anymore,” Dillon says. “I do have a chocolate cake in the oven, though. Baking is where it’s at anyway.”
Boone rolls his eyes. “I don’t trust you with the stove because you caught a towel on fire.”
“Once.” Dillon points a fork at him. “And it was a controlled burn.”
She laughs, a soft, surprised sound that makes Boone’s mouth twitch, Dillon beam, and hits me right in the chest. We fall into an easy rhythm after that, passing dishes and trading stories.
As she picks up her silverware, she takes a pointed look around the room, her gaze snagging on the expensive light fixtures, the massive TV against the wall in the living room, and the sleek lines of the designer furniture. “What exactly do you guys do for work?”
Boone answers first. “We run a cybersecurity company. It’s mostly private contracts. Fortune 500s, banks, and sometimes government clients.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Here? In the middle of nowhere?”
“High-speed internet reaches even us mountain folk these days,” Dillon says. “We get to work in our boxers and nobody complains.”
She nearly snorts beer through her nose, and I have to look away before my smile gives too much away.