Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
The microwave beeped, and Ford pulled the mug of hot milk out and emptied a packet of chocolate powder into it, stirring briskly with a spoon.
“I don’t like the idea of you out there on your own.”
I bristled. “I can take care of myself. I take sole responsibility for entire groups of hikers in the backcountry.”
“Don’t you have a partner with Sparks Outdoor Adventures?”
At the mention of Brandon, I grimaced. But color me surprised that Ford knew this much about my business. I ran that place more than Brandon did—everyone in town probably knew that. My name was even more synonymous with Sparks Outdoor Adventure than Brandon’s.
“He’s my boss, not a partner,” I said quickly. I was no longer sleeping with Brandon. That had been a short-term mistake.
Huge mistake.
I learned a very important rule: Never screw your boss, no matter how friendly, laid-back and easy-going he made everything seem. When things went south, work got really awkward. Even if I barely saw him at work. Brandon was having a perpetual temper tantrum since I told him I couldn’t handle a relationship. Right now or ever. I’d given him the old It’s not you, it’s me line. That I was still grieving Buck’s death and just couldn’t think about a relationship.
I just couldn’t think about a relationship with him. For so many reasons. He was a slacker for one. And since he couldn’t find my clit with a topo map and a compass, he’d left me unsatisfied.
Now he was talking about moving out of Sparks. Which meant I needed to figure out how to scrape together enough money to make him an offer on the business, or I’d lose my job. Sparks wasn’t plentiful in them, and I sure as hell wasn’t the type to work behind a desk all day.
“Oh, you seem more like a business partner. I heard you run everything over there.” Ford narrowed his gaze and studied me. “Wait—were you two—”
“It’s none of your business,” I snapped, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I see.” He handed me the mug of hot chocolate, and the damn sheet slipped when I reached for it, giving Ford a flash of nip.
“Jesus,” he bit out, eyes darkening. He turned abruptly away. “I’ll get you one of my shirts.”
I couldn’t keep from smirking as he stalked out of the kitchen. Did my bare breast just fluster the unflappable tough guy, Ford Ledger? The guy I lusted after for all of my teen years? The one who I equally craved and despised?
Could it be… Ford did find me attractive? All these years, I’d thought he’d been repulsed when I’d offered myself up that long-ago night. He’d cursed and covered his eyes and snarled at me to get out of his bed. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Buck had been right behind him and had seen everything. Literally, all of me, which was gross.
Buck—the asshole—had hauled me out to my car telling me I’d acted like a slut. The next day, he’d given me some stupid sexist lecture on how guys didn’t respect girls who threw themselves at men. Even though I’d tried to shake it off, the scars both of them left on me still festered to this day.
But what if Ford hadn’t been repulsed? What if he’d been… tempted?
Maybe it had been my brother’s presence that made it awful and weird. Maybe it hadn’t been all me. Then why was he still being an asshole? A truce was one thing, but he’d taken my clothes. Sure, I was stubborn, but still. He was grumpy and intense and moody. And hot.
I took a sip of the hot cocoa and moaned softly. It totally hit the spot. Ford was right, I was still cold—I hadn’t stayed in the hot shower long enough to really warm up, and my hair was still wet.
He returned with a Navy—the organization, not the color—t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
“Thanks.”
I set the mug down, and he reached out.
I slapped his hand away, surprised.
He wasn’t reaching for my boob, but my pendant about my neck.
He held it in his fingers, eyed it for a time.
“I was with Buck when he got this for you,” he said, his voice low. He studied it as if remembering the event. It was gold with decorative filigree and a blue center stone on a simple chain. I glanced from it to Ford. He was so close, I had to tip my head back. His eyes were so blue but cold. The beard had flecks of red and a thin scar sliced through the tan on his forehead.
He smelled of man and sunshine and some kind of soap. Like pine and leather.
“I… I never take it off,” I admitted, swallowing hard. “It was the last thing he gave me. The last mail we got from him.”