Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
My stomach twists, but I’ve got to focus on the here and now. Not the end. As we walk down the street, I take her hand. “Can I tell you something?”
She glances up. “Of course.”
I swallow roughly, past the knot in my throat. “Right now, while we’re doing it, this doesn’t feel fake.”
She squeezes my hand. “No. It really doesn’t,” she says, but her tone doesn’t match her touch. “That’s the problem.”
Her words hit like a jolt. “Why?” I ask.
She gives me a bittersweet look. “Because it feels good. And it’s going to end.”
And when it ends, we won’t just be playing a fast one on my team anymore, all in the name of me behaving at a gala. We’ll be disappointing an entire town rooting for us.
Regret chases me, and I try to shrug it off, but it clings like cold air.
When we reach the toy store, I try on a joke for size. “Before we know it, we’ll be part of Evergreen Falls’ official marketing campaign.”
Isla doesn’t quite laugh.
She doesn’t like failing. Neither do I. And pretty soon, we’re going to have to admit we failed.
But not yet. Not today.
This afternoon, we shop for my kid. And it’s a damn good thing I have a game tonight, and plans to watch a game too—because otherwise, I could do this all day with her.
Well, maybe minus the crowds snapping our picture and asking about our future.
That part I could do without.
I have enough questions on my own.
42
CANDY CANE LANE
ISLA
I’m just settling into bed with a book after seeing the women’s hockey game with my friends when my phone buzzes. It’s late—close to midnight. My heart shimmies more than I want it to when I see the preview pane.
Rowan: Are you decent?
I glance down at my red cami and matching mint green pajama pants.
Isla: Depends what you mean by decent.
Rowan: Are you decent enough to come to the door?
I sit up in bed, my pulse spiking, then swing my legs out. My chest is achy already with the desire to see him—especially since I wasn’t expecting a midnight visitor. At the door, I peer through the peephole, and excitement soars inside me. There he is, looking all beardy and sexy and here.
I yank open the door. He’s leaning against the frame, resting on one arm. His green eyes flicker with heat as they travel up and down me. In his other hand, he holds a canvas bag, like he’s stopped at a store.
“The whole time,” he begins, stepping inside, toeing off his shoes, “the whole time I saw you at that hockey game, I was thinking about you. I was thinking about candy canes. And I was hoping I could find a way to sneak over here.”
I’m buzzy. Intoxicated. His ocean scent swirls around me, and my brain feels foggy already. It’s ridiculous how I react to this man.
“I thought you were with Mia?”
He cups my cheek, strokes it. A rumble seems to work its way up his chest as he threads his fingers through my hair. It’s like he can’t hold back. He presses a hot kiss to my neck.
“My parents came over afterward. We were all hanging out playing board games, and then they fell asleep on the couch. Mia did too. I carried her to bed.” He stops his kisses. His smile is electric and wicked. “So I sneaked out.”
My eyes pop. “This is so high school.”
“Like the way you were grinding against me outside your parents’ home.”
“Pretty sure you were grinding against me. If memory serves, you lifted me up. I remember you rubbing that big dick against me.”
He dips his face back to mine, and his kisses turn hotter, needier. “Details, details.”
“You really sneaked over here?” I ask, breathless and aroused.
“I left a note.” He says it a little defensively but playfully at the same time. “I’ll be back in the morning before anyone wakes up over there.”
“And what did you bring?” I ask, breaking the kiss again.
His lips curve into a cocky grin. “Don’t you want to know?”
“Yes. That’s why I asked.”
“But I think you’d rather be surprised.”
He’s so right. He knows me so well.
“Maybe I do.”
“Why don’t you go get in bed,” he says, plucking at my red cami. “Take this off. And just put on a pair of red-and-white-striped panties.”
I blink. “How do you know I have red-and-white-striped panties?”
He arches a brow. “Do you, Isla?” It comes out rough, gravelly, and full of certainty. Like he’s a lawyer in a courtroom, following that golden rule of attorneys—don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to.
“I do,” I answer.
“Put them on. And wait for me on the bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” Then he smacks me on the ass over my fuzzy pajamas and says, “Go.”
I rush out of the living room and into the bedroom, my heart beating so fast, arousal already spinning higher in me. Have I always wanted these kinds of games in the bedroom? Or is Rowan just the first person to understand that the way I like a challenge in life might translate between the sheets too?