Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
The next minute, he was Thorne. A drill sergeant, barking out orders. Demanding I obey him.
I snorted. Not likely.
He was the one I wanted to slap.
Maybe knock some sense into him. Or dislodge the stick he had up his ass.
I looked at the wind chimes I had started to make. Unlike the commercial kind, which did tend to be rather loud and annoying and were made with cheap metal tubes and clappers, I made mine with tiny bells, little pieces of stained glass, seashells, and driftwood, along with small versions of the tubes and clappers. The bells sang sweetly in the wind, the glass tinkled, and the clapper sang softly. It was soothing and lovely.
And according to my landlord, a definite no.
Too bad for him, I didn’t like the word no.
I sat down and got to work.
It took me the rest of the day plus the next morning, but as I held up my new set of wind chimes, I was pleased. The light danced off the glass and the brass. I added some crystal beads into it, and those shimmered in the sun. I moved it around, letting the air current work its magic, and the bells rang out, the tiny tubes I added hitting the clapper perfectly, making the chiming sound so appealing.
It wasn’t loud since I only used smaller metal pieces. It was perfect.
And so pretty.
Some would say girly.
I opened the front door, standing on the porch, trying to decide where to hang my creation. I would love to be able to hang it off the eavestrough, but the only ladder I knew of was the one I had used the other day, and it wasn’t very tall. I had seen a long aluminum ladder in the garage when I’d taken the totes out of it that Jesse had told me about, but it was high on the wall, and I certainly wasn’t asking him to get it for me.
Once he found out why I needed it, he would refuse.
I pursed my lips as I studied the porch railings. I could use the ladder and screw a hook into the top and hang it there. That would work. But then I spied a hook already in place on the upper piece of trim on the wall that separated the two halves of the porch. I dragged the chair over and climbed it, hanging the wind chimes. Using my finger, I measured the width of the wood and was pleased to know the hook was more on my side than his. I wasn’t encroaching on his space. I stepped off the chair and stood back, satisfied.
There was a light breeze today, swirling around the wood and tubes, setting off the bells and the soft echo of the clapper. It was melodic and sweet. Not too loud. Perfect.
I walked down the steps and looked at my porch. With the wreath and the wind chimes, plus the welcome mat, it was homey and, yes, girly. The table and chair I had set up were inviting, and I looked forward to sitting on the porch on nice summer days, reading and enjoying the sun. I already imagined decorating it at Christmas. Wrapping garland around the rails, adding lights and bows. A huge wreath on the door. Maybe a Santa figure or a cute teddy bear that lit up. A huge urn of greenery.
“What the hell is that?” a voice snarled behind me.
I turned, my breath catching. Jesse had obviously been out on a run. His shorts hugged his muscular thighs like a lover clinging tight. Every sinew, muscle, and attribute was outlined.
And it was quite the attribute.
He had removed his shirt at some point, no doubt using it to wipe down his chest. His massive shoulders tapered to a thick waist, his six-pack tight and defined. His arms bulged, and his pecs made me swallow convulsively. The sudden urge to run my hand down his chest, to slip my fingers under his waistband and feel him—really feel him—as I kissed his frowning mouth overwhelmed me.
How could someone look so miserable, yet so desirable at the same time?
He glared at me, shifting his weight from one foot to another. I swore his attribute moved. Shifted a little as if swelling. Maybe it liked my attention.
I shook my head. Why was I thinking about his cock? He was Thorne. As in, a thorn in my side.
“What?” I asked stupidly, my voice thick.
What was what? Was I drooling?
I inconspicuously wiped at the corner of my mouth, but I was fine. Then I realized he was glaring over my shoulder and recalled the wind chimes.
“If you’re finished eye-fucking me,” he growled, “I believe I stated quite firmly yesterday, no wind chimes.”
“I am not eye-fucking you,” I retorted snidely, because really, I was eye-fucking him. He was rather delicious to look at, even hot, sweaty, and angry.