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)
“That’s a no,” I confirm and glance over to check on Darby, but I don’t see her. Ava’s chatting with Millie and Holden, and when my eyes skim over the patio, Darby’s nowhere to be seen.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and shoot her a text.
Me: You okay, Duchess?
I watch my phone, but she doesn’t answer me. With a frown, I stand and walk over to Ava.
“Did you see where Darby went?” I ask her.
Ava frowns and looks around, then nods. “Yeah, she took her plate inside.”
Ignoring Holden’s glare, I stride through the back door, and there she is. Darby’s at the sink, washing dishes.
“You don’t have to do that.”
She glances my way and smiles. “I know, but there aren’t many, since we’re using paper and plastic for most things, so I figured if I washed these up, no one would have to worry about it later.”
I toss my empty plate and lean my hips against the counter, watching her.
“And, I wanted a quiet moment,” she admits. “I told you before that I’m not great with people.”
“You’re good with people. Doesn’t mean you have to want to be around them all the time. It’s one of the things I like about living on the ranch. There’s hardly anyone here to irritate me.”
She chuckles and places the last dish on the drying rack, then reaches for a towel to dry her hands.
“It is nice and quiet out here.” She turns and leans her hips on the counter next to me, and we stand here in silence for a long moment. “Wanna sit by the fire later?”
“Yeah, Duchess. I wanna sit by the fire.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
DARBY
Ididn’t sleep a wink last night.
A restless night isn’t unusual for me. There have been several times that I’ve sat out by the fire until the sun started to lighten the sky, just before dawn. I don’t know what it is about sitting in that spot behind my little cabin that I love so much. Actually, that’s a lie. I know. It’s peaceful out there, the fire is warm when the air cools down, and I like the way it sounds. The way it feels on my face and arms, and I love listening to the quiet all around me.
But I like it best when Tucker joins me.
Let’s be honest, I like everything better when the tall, sexy rancher is nearby, whether it’s by the fire, in his kitchen, or just about anywhere. I’ve grown to crave his touch, and I trust him implicitly. I don’t remember the last time that happened, aside from Holden, of course.
I want Tucker Hendrix. And not just in a please get naked and do unspeakable things to my body kind of way. Yes, I want that because he’s pure, unadulterated sex on a motherfucking stick, but I also want to talk to him. I want to ask him a million questions and make him laugh. Because that laugh? Yeah, there’s nothing better than when Tucker laughs.
I’ve just walked into the barn, ready to get started on stalls and feeding the horses, when I feel him step into the barn behind me. The air shifts when he’s near, and my skin prickles, and everything in me immediately lets go, as if my body knows that it can exhale.
“You beat me here every morning,” he says, his voice rough. I turn to smile at him and feel my heart stumble.
For fuck’s sake, warn a girl.
His hair is damp from a shower. His black T-shirt molds over his chest and arms so damn perfectly, I can see the outline of every muscle, and his forearm flexes as he brings his coffee to his lips for a sip, and holy Hades, I think I might have an orgasm just from looking at him.
“Duchess?”
“What? Oh yeah. I just got here a second ago. I haven’t even started working yet.”
“Hmm.” His green eyes journey down my body, over my breasts and hips, then back up again, and he takes another sip of coffee as he stares at me with lazy interest.
Tucker told me that he moves slow, and he wasn’t lying. He’s held my hand, touched my hair and face, and I’ve leaned on him while we watch the fire at night.
But he hasn’t kissed me, and I’m dying to know what he tastes like. What he feels like pressed against me. Does he make noises? Are his hands firm? I want to know everything.
“What’s going on in that pretty brain of yours?” He sets his mug on a nearby ledge.
“Are you ever going to kiss me?”
I blink rapidly, stunned that I said the words out loud, but before I can stammer through an apology, Tucker steps to me, his lips turned up in a small smile, and he drags his fingertips down my jawline.
“Is that what you want, pretty girl? You want me to kiss you?”