Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I duck my head, avoiding his gaze. He probably thinks I'm a disaster. Awesome.
I hope I never need rescuing again. It's entirely too much work.
I reluctantly slide from the SUV, grimacing when I'm immediately pelted with frigid rain again. By the time I make it the few feet to the covered porch, I'm soaked to the skin again, and even colder than before.
Ash grabs a duffle and a couple of shopping bags from the back of the SUV and then rushes up the steps after me, shaking water from his overly long, dark hair. If he's bothered by the rain, he doesn't show it. He just stomps mud from his boots and hurries to the door, unlocking and then holding it open for me.
My body brushes against his as I pass by. I try to hide the way I shiver, but it's impossible. If he notices, he doesn't say anything, though. He just follows me inside, dropping his bag right inside the door. He tosses the shopping bags on the coffee table and then hits the light switch, flooding the room with light.
The cabin is nice, with dark, comfortable furniture, plush rugs, and plenty of space. Tiny dust motes hover in the air, as if it hasn't been used in a while, but it smells fresh and clean. Windows along the back overlook the creek.
Ash immediately heads down the hall on the left, poking his head into the first room on the right before going into the one on the left. He materializes a second later with a towel slung over his shoulders and another in his hands.
"Here," he murmurs, stepping up in front of me to wrap it around me. His hand brushes my shoulder in the process, and another shiver rips through me. He definitely notices this time. His eyes tangle with mine, this look in them that says he isn't quite sure what to make of me.
I want to tell him I feel the same damn way. This isn't what I expected of the day. I'm still not even convinced this is reality. But with him standing in front of me, it's hard to believe this is anything else.
Ash Kilborne is staring into my eyes right now.
He's touching my shoulder.
What is even happening right now?
"Loralei," he says…whispers, really.
I don't know why I sway toward him. I don't even recognize the soft, needy sound I make. It's like I'm in one of my dreams, where he's in my room, telling me he can't live without me. My whole freaking soul wants to reenact that right this second and fling myself at him the same way I do when my sleeping mind conjures him up.
Except…I'm more sure than ever that this is reality. And in reality, I've never been that girl—the one who just throws herself at anyone. I don't even know how to be that girl.
"I…um…bathroom," I mumble, rushing around him before I say or do something I'll absolutely regret, like, 'please fuck me on that fancy rug right there.'
I practically catapult myself through the bathroom door, slamming it closed behind me. My back lands against it, my breath a ragged pant in my throat. I bury my face in the towel, groaning to myself.
My face is on fire, my heart beating a million miles a minute.
Did I seriously just flee from Ash Kilborne? Yes, yes, I did.
"What the fuck, Loralei? What the actual fuck?"
I drag the towel down, meeting my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. I look like a drowned rat. A pale, shivering, oversized drowned rat. And my whole bra is visible through my shirt.
"Awesome," I growl, furiously drying myself with the towel. Not that it helps much. There is no helping this. Absolutely none at all. I just met my idol looking like I'm auditioning to be the girl who crawls out of the TV in that one horror movie that scared the ever-living shit out of literally everyone.
Jazz is going to love this.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm still stalling in the bathroom when Ash knocks on the door.
I freeze before spinning that way. For a split second, I contemplate shoving myself through the tiny window and disappearing into the storm. I can be a figment of his imagination, something conjured up by stress or exhaustion or whatever it is that brought him to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.
"I'll be right out," I say instead.
"I've got dry clothes for you," he calls through the door. "And I found the dryer. If you'll pass yours out, I'll put them in for you."
I strip at lightning speed. At least until I get to my bra and panties, and then I hesitate. Do I really want Ash to have his hands all over my mismatched bra and panties?
Why is that even a question?
I strip out of them, dropping them onto the pile with the rest of my clothes. At the last second, I shove them between the shirt and skirt, trying to hide them. Mostly because I might die if he sees the label and realizes panties come in that particular size.