Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I chuckle, pointing to the other side of the house. “Big enough field for rugby training too?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no doubt.”
“The stream goes around the house?” I ask absently, trying to find where it ends.
“Yeah. You'd know if you'd hurry the fuck up.”
“Sorry.”
He tugs at my hand again, leading me to the front door.
“Wow!” I breathe.
He closes the door behind me, the lock clicking into place with finality. His arm sweeps toward the stairs like he's presenting a fucking museum exhibit. “It's simple. Upstairs are the bedrooms, downstairs is the living room which overlooks the stream through the windows with an open-plan kitchen leading off of it, which then leads to the backyard through French binding doors.”
French binding doors. Jesus Christ.
His eyes roll skyward, and I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I had to add French or Yana would kick my ass.” The admission comes out grudging, like it physically pains him to admit she has that kind of power. He’s right though, Yana would kick his ass and then stamp her architect degree over his forehead. “And then there's a game room down the back, behind the garage. It's low-key with a little multimedia system and all that bullshit in there.” He pauses, his jaw working. “I had them build that room for Garret.”
His gaze fixes on me then, studying. Not just looking—dissecting. Taking me apart piece by piece to see what makes me tick. I hate how exposed it makes me feel, like he can see straight through my skin to all the broken parts underneath.
Something thick rises in my throat. I swallow it down, focusing on the details instead. The polished hardwood floors gleam under recessed lighting. Arch frames mold every doorway like something out of an architectural wet dream.
My fingers curl against my palms.
He continues. “Bedrooms are upstairs. One's Garret's. The shithead has his own shower and toilet. His reasoning?” His face lights up as he walks toward the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of water and tossing one to me. “Was that he'd need it when he started bringing girls home. Don't tell Jada, but I agreed; the little man needed his space.” He stops, sips his water, keeping those blue eyes fixed on me. The bottle hits the counter with a soft thud. “Aside from all that, this is it.”
A small snort escapes me. “This is not just 'it', Hella. This is beautiful, I had no idea.” I'm in awe and, knowing my luck, the evidence is smeared all over my face.
He walks towards me, his hands coming under my armpits as he lifts me and places me on top of the black breakfast bar.
He moves the steel stools out of the way. “Have I freaked you out enough to have you run?” he asks, his eyebrow cocked. He runs his nose down the side of my temple, and my legs widen for him. “Because if you did,” he whispers into my ear, his cocky smile pressing against my cheek, “I'd chase you.”
That wasn't a threat. That was a promise. I might be in over my head with him. Why doesn't that scare me? It should. If I were smart, it would scare me. Right now, I'm not smart, not when it comes to him.
“I'm really stupid,” I whisper aloud.
“Hmmm?” he murmurs, his tongue tracing a slow, wet line across my collarbone. Heat flares between my thighs, and my eyes flutter back, lost in the rush.
“Forget it,” I mutter, my fingers twisting into his hair, yanking his head back just so I can crash my lips into his. I think I've got the upper hand, but the second our mouths meet, he steals it.
He pins me down, my back hitting the cold granite of the counter, and I widen my legs for him to settle in.
His head dips, forehead brushing mine, his breath coming in heavy, ragged pulls. Fuck. I am so screwed with this man.
My hands slide down his sides, greedy, desperate, as his tongue flicks out, dragging over my lips with a tilt of his head that's pure challenge.
My fingers find his knife holster. The sharp click of it unfastening echoes in the charged silence, and a wicked grin curves against my mouth.
“Wanna play? Fine, let's play,” he growls, his hand covering mine, easing it free. All the while, his mouth is on mine, licking, sucking, claiming every gasp I give up. It's not too much, but damn it, it's not enough either.
I'm burning for him to take me apart, to ruin me, to brand every inch of me with his touch. I'm a goddamn mess, spiralling, and Hella's the Woodsman I can't quit.
The familiar cold metal presses against my hard nipple, and I hiss, my eyes opening slowly to find Hella's beaming blue eyes shaded by lust and darkened with need. He stretches my legs wider with his, his eyes searching mine the whole time.