Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
The scent lingered. Emily.
Frowning, he strode to the front door and pushed it open. His home was a handcrafted log cabin, large and solid, built to house generations of Alphas. The entryway opened into a spacious living area with vaulted ceilings, exposed wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the forest beyond. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, and thick leather furniture sat atop a deep-brown rug. The crackle of the fireplace mixed with the soft hum of morning.
A delicious smell tickled his nose, pulling him down the long hallway toward the open kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleamed on granite countertops, and rustic oak cabinets added warmth to the space. Emily stood at the stove, pulling a casserole from the oven.
Jackson blinked. He had imagined seeing her first thing in the morning more times than he cared to admit, though none of those fantasies had involved her wearing clothes. Today, she wore pressed black slacks, another pair of damn impressive boots, and a light-blue sweater that hugged her curves.
He just stared for a moment. “How did you get to my house?”
She blew out air. “Seriously. The second I stepped out of my room, I had ten escorts, male and female, all ages, who wanted to show me the town. I asked an elderly pack member named Atticus for a ride.”
Jackson blanched. “Atticus had his license suspended. The guy can’t see worth crap. No more rides from him.”
“Oh.” She slowly nodded. “That explains why everyone else protested.” One of her slim shoulders rose. “Also why he hit your hydrangea bush right outside.”
Jackson had liked that bush. “I’m glad you made it safely.”
“Apparently, you were out all night.” Her gaze flicked down his frame. “You’re filthy.”
Jackson glanced at himself. Even though he had changed his shirt after leaving the mine, dust and grit still coated his jeans. “I was working.”
“Mining all night?” She took a step back. The movement only highlighted the contrast between her fresh, polished appearance and his rough, worn state.
Damn, she looked good. Too good.
“I like to take a shift now and then,” he said, voice low. Make that every damn night, but she didn’t need to know that. “Enjoy my time in a stope smashing for granite.” The fact that she’d actually set up meetings for him with other females showed that she actually didn’t want to become the Alpha female of his pack. Even if they formed an alliance, her loyalty would always be to her pack, and she obviously saw her father’s mortality. Jackson understood that. Respected it. But it meant she didn’t need to know his secrets.
“Oh.” A glimmer of approval crossed her eyes. “Well, take a quick shower. I made breakfast.”
Jackson stood rooted to the spot, blinking once, slowly. “You thought I was out partying with other women, and you still made breakfast?”
Emily’s lips quirked, but her gaze did not waver. “Yeah. I like breakfast.” The air between them thickened, tension humming beneath the surface. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, and Jackson’s wolf stirred, wanting to close the space between them. The smell of warm food mixed with her natural scent, making it hard to focus. He swallowed the urge to step forward and see how soft that sweater would feel in his hands. “Go shower.”
Adorable. She was way too cute. “I’ll, ah, go shower.” Jackson forced himself to step back, his pulse thudding as he turned toward the hallway. The space between them might as well have been a thread pulled taut. Fragile and ready to snap.
Upstairs, he headed straight to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit his shoulders, easing some of the tension but doing nothing to cool the thoughts that had rooted themselves in his mind: Emily, standing in his kitchen like she belonged there. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling as the water sluiced over him.
He hurriedly finished, wanting that delicious breakfast.
And the woman cooking it. Damn it.
Clean and dressed in worn jeans and a dark T-shirt, he stepped into the bedroom and caught his reflection in the mirror. Broad shoulders, lean muscles, a few scars. His hands were callused from years of labor. Not the kind of male Emily was used to. Her father practically lived in three-piece suits, and her home was a mansion. She probably preferred someone who wore Armani and carried a briefcase.
He wouldn’t know Armani if it bit him on his ass.
He headed back downstairs, finding Emily already seated at the round log table by the wide window. The soft morning light streamed in, catching on the wood’s natural knots and grains. His gaze snagged on the placemats, simple but neat. “Huh,” he said. “Where did you find those?”
“In the drawer below the pots and pans. You must not use them often.”
He gave a short nod. “I don’t cook much.”