Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Like this annoying erection. Which, finally, after a few deep breaths, settles the fuck down.
With that matter settled, I leash up the dog and take him for a walk around the property, passing the maze that looks perfect for kids to play in. “You like that maze?”
He pants.
“Bet you know it perfectly,” I say.
As we walk, I flash back to last night in bed with Ripley. Sometime in the middle of the night, I must have curled up next to her. Tugged her close. Held her tight. An image flickers before my eyes. Me roping an arm around her stomach. Her wriggling near to me, her sweet ass pressed against my dick.
I groan audibly as I replay the moment. We can’t keep cuddling each other in our sleep. Cuddling leads to morning wood that needs to be talked down.
I’ll apologize to Ripley when I return, and we’ll agree to move on. I’ll do better tonight. Hell, that shed sounds good right about now.
I reach for my phone to turn on some Brahms to distract me but come up empty in my pocket. Right. I’m the idiot who ran out the door without a phone, without even brushing my teeth.
Gross. Morning breath sucks. I hope I don’t run into anyone I need to talk to.
Like I’ve summoned her, there’s Tabitha coming my way wearing a baseball cap, a tank top, and a pair of running shorts. She’s racing toward me, arms tucked by her sides in a runner’s stride, legs moving fast. When she nears me, she slows and pops out an earbud. “How’s it going, Banks? Did you sleep well?”
Like I was in an OnlyFans waiting room all night long. “Great,” I say, making sure I don’t expose my dragon breath to her.
With a deep sigh, she glances around, gesturing to the long country road stretching in front of her, then to the violet blooms forming a blanket across the property beside me. “I haven’t slept that well in ages. It must be the quiet out here in a small town. Not a single siren, or argument on the street, or even traffic at three in the morning. You know how it is in Los Angeles. There’s always traffic.”
“Sure is,” I say.
She points toward the fields just past me. “That’s pretty, whatever it is.”
“Grosso,” I say immediately.
She shoots me a quizzical look. “You know the kind of lavender?”
“Well, I’ve been here a few days,” I say, nonchalant. “I picked up a few things.”
Which is true, but I also researched varieties of lavender after Ripley said these were one of her customers’ favorites. I was curious. Or, okay, fine. Maybe I wanted to know more about Ripley and her business. “It’s used for drying and in cooking,” I add.
An eyebrow arches. “Well, if a scene calls for a lavender expert and I can’t find Ripley, I’ll look for you.”
Note to self: shut the fuck up. I don’t want to let on to the producer that I’m too interested in all things related to my client.
“I was just…curious,” I add. I can’t follow my own orders this morning. Jesus, if sleeping next to a beautiful woman turns me into a blabbermouth, that shed is looking better by the minute. “Anyway,” I say, suddenly at a loss for words.
Tabitha’s wristwatch beeps a warning, and she snaps her gaze to it, then closes the alert.
“I’d ask about the other varieties, but I’ll lose my cardio bennies if I don’t take off,” she says, tapping her device.
“Don’t want to lose those bennies. Have a good run,” I say.
She gives a wave, then trots off.
Relieved to see her go, I circle the farm, giving the dog a chance to stretch his morning legs and myself some space from an unexpectedly spoon-y kind of night.
Fifteen or so minutes later, I return to the cottage, the dog bounding to the door. As I follow, I review the plan. I’ll apologize for my overexuberant spooning, and then we’ll move on. At least I have the day off, since Marcus, one of my backups, will look out for Ripley. The space will be good. Hell, it’s necessary.
I jerk open the door and Hudson rushes inside, racing to his favorite person, who’s coming around the corner from the bathroom.
She’s wearing only a towel cinched around her breasts and coming down to her mid-thighs. Her wet hair is sleek against her shoulders, and a drop of water slides down her chest between the valley of her breasts.
So much for the disappearance of my hard-on.
“Oh. I just got out of the shower,” she says, a little flustered.
“I figured as much,” I say dryly. Mostly to cover up the heat flaring in my bones.
“I’ll get out of your way.” She gestures to the bathroom.
I shake my head, waving to the door I just walked through. “No, I’ll get out of your way.”