Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
And just like that, all the tension I’ve been carrying melts away.
“What if I didn’t come back tonight?” I ask him as I sit in my seat. I like the warmth of the fire, but I like being in Tucker’s soothing presence more.
His green eyes shift to me, and he watches me for a long moment before answering. “Then I would have sat by the fire by myself and missed your company.”
God, he’s swoony.
I flinch as I shift in the seat, reminded that I rode a horse for the first time this morning, and of course he catches it.
Tucker doesn’t miss much.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just stiff. Not used to riding a horse.”
He nods. “I bet you have a salve for that.”
With a laugh, I turn to face him. I’d rather look at him than the fire. “You know, I do. But I think a bath with some Epsom salts will do the trick.”
Tucker frowns. “Your tub is tiny. It’s not really a soaking tub.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got, Hotshot.”
“You’ll use mine.”
I blink at him slowly. “Tucker—”
“We really need to work on your argumentativeness, Duchess,” he says slowly and crosses his arms over his chest. “You can soak in my damn tub. It’s ten yards away.”
“You’re bossy.”
He just grins at me, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life. I can’t take my eyes off his lips, and the longer I stare, the smile slowly falls away.
“Where did you go tonight?” he asks softly.
I could tell him that it’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to know every move I make. But he’s not asking to be an asshole. He just wants to know.
“I went to the bar in town.”
He swallows thickly. “Date?”
I huff out a laugh. “No. Thought I’d try to find one, but no. I met Ivy, though, and she’s really nice. Also, your brother won his game tonight.”
“I know. I watched it inside before I came out here.” He licks his lips. “I’m going to touch you.”
My throat locks up. I can’t speak, so I just nod, and then he slowly, so slowly, reaches out and gently brushes my hair back behind my ear. His calloused fingertips drift down my jawline before his hand falls away, and he takes a long, deep breath.
“Come upstairs and soak in the tub, Darby. I won’t do anything inappropriate.”
Well, that’s a damn shame.
“Okay.” It’s a whisper, and his lips tip up into that smile again.
Tucker stands and offers me his hand, and without thinking, I slide my palm against his and he pulls me out of the chair. He doesn’t drop my hand as we walk to the house. In fact, he shifts, so our fingers are laced, and it feels so fucking good.
I don’t want to flinch back. I don’t want to yank my hand away. I don’t have the heebie-jeebies from his touch. And I don’t think that I’ve ever been this comfortable around a man in my life.
The farmhouse is everything I could ever dream of. It’s everything my childhood home wasn’t.
High ceilings with wooden beams, a pretty kitchen with clean granite countertops and a stove that looks like it’s cooked many delicious meals for a loving family. The dining room seats eight, and the living room is cozy, with big leather furniture, a TV, and a beautiful fireplace.
Without a word, Tucker leads me up the stairs and down the hall to the primary suite, and when I step over the threshold, I instinctively take a deep breath. It smells like Tucker, like trees and fresh air with a hint of earth. His king-size bed is made with blue linens, and his furniture is simple but pretty.
“Bathroom’s in here,” he murmurs, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Holy shit, it’s brand new.”
I step inside, shocked by the black-and-white bathroom, with a double vanity, a shower the size of my cabin, and a claw-foot tub that makes me want to weep with joy.
Or rather, my ass wants to weep with joy.
“I remodeled it after Dad moved out,” he says, casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “I wanted to make it my own. So, I redid this and the bedroom.”
“That makes sense.”
He moves past me and turns on the faucet, then fetches a bag of Epsom salts out from under the sink and sets it on the countertop.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “Would you like some wine? Or a beer?”
“No, I had a beer earlier. But thanks.”
He pauses and looks like he wants to say something else, but then he simply nods.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Tucker.”
He pauses in the doorway and looks back at me. God almighty, this man is beautiful.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He chuckles and pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m just relieved you didn’t find another date.”
He shuts the door behind him, and I let out a breath.