Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
It opened to a hallway that ran farther down to the left of me, and straight ahead was the opening to the main area of the house.
I tiptoed to the edge of it and peered out into Milo’s home.
Well, cabin.
Rugged and rough and gorgeous.
Rustic floors and wood-paneled walls. The living space had an over-sized maroon leather sofa and two matching chairs. Light infiltrated the space, blazing in from the huge bank of windows that seemed to take up the entire back wall of the cabin.
But it was the hulking shape of the man who stood at the stove that stole my breath.
He was on the other side of the long, butcher-block island, the top half of him exposed where he faced away. His hair was a thick shock of black, and he’d cut it so it was cropped on the sides and a little longer on top. I’d always had a really hard time not thinking about what it would be like to scratch my fingers through it.
His shoulders were massive and wide, and even from this distance, I could see the brute strength of him rippling from beneath the black shirt that stretched over his body.
As if he felt me there, he glanced at me from over his shoulder.
Intense eyes stared back.
Amber dipped in warm honey.
My stomach took a swooping dive.
A freefall.
He slowly shifted around.
Did the ground tremble?
No, that was only my stupid, wayward heart clattering in my chest.
Because he was looking at me with this harsh softness that made my belly tumble, his eyes dragging over me in a slow sweep, grazing over his shirt, down my legs to my toes before it leisurely dragged back up.
Energy crackled.
The man breathed contradiction.
His voice was always held low, his actions measured, though he glowed with a severity unlike anything I’d experienced before.
A volatility that writhed within him that he kept tapped.
Then he went and smiled this concerned smile that melted my insides, the weight of it twitching beneath his trimmed black beard.
“How’d you sleep?” His voice was a low rumble that skated my skin.
Flustered, I took a couple steps into the room. “Great.”
His gaze narrowed, those honey-dipped eyes taking me in from across the space like he could see straight through me.
Gah, why did he have to be so…everything?
Big and intimidating and rough.
Soft and kind and real.
He crossed the small area between the stove and the island, and he planted his palms on top. The position only emphasized his hulking muscles. The mass of them flexed beneath the intricate ink that rolled down his arms and onto the back of his hands.
I swore he was like looking at bottled mayhem.
His attention dipped to my lip.
Nerves had the tip of my tongue poking out at the spot.
His expression darkened. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I drank a gallon of vodka, then got smacked in the face by an asshole.” I attempted a joke.
Milo clearly didn’t think it was funny.
A dark sound rolled through his chest.
“I’m really okay,” I amended, coming forward. “It didn’t hurt that much, and it’s not going to happen again, so I feel…”
Terrified.
Exhilarated.
Freed.
Trapped.
“Better.”
He seemed to war, like he wanted to say something else, then changed his mind.
“Coffee?” he asked instead.
“Milo Hendricks, you are speaking my love language.” I couldn’t help but grin.
A soft quirk lifted at the edge of his mouth. “Happy to oblige. Have a seat.”
He gestured to a stool at the island.
I padded over and slipped onto it, trying to play it like this was all completely normal.
Like he didn’t make me shake.
Like I hadn’t sported a very scandalous crush on him since the moment I’d met him.
I wondered what he’d think if he knew I’d fantasized about waking up in his house before, although the previous night’s activities had looked quite a bit different from the way they’d actually gone down.
And on all things holy, was it a stunning house.
It was somehow everything I expected, but more.
Rustic and raw, but also warm and cozy with a touch of luxury.
My eyes wandered, taking it in.
It was one giant room, and the ceiling was pitched and had to be at least two stories tall.
Sunlight gleamed in from the windows that ran the backside of the kitchen, expanding out to run from floor to ceiling on the far-right side. The glass segments were framed in the same color of wood as the walls.
They gave way to an elevated porch and the forest beyond.
Tucked about a hundred yards back was a small lake hugged by the expanse of soaring trees.
Blue water rippled and glittered beneath the rays of morning sun.
My chest squeezed at the beauty of it.
“This is gorgeous, Milo,” I whispered in awe. “And I’m not just being polite. It’s…a dream. I can’t believe you live here.”
A soft grunt left his mouth as he moved to a cabinet, pulled out a mug, and poured me a cup from the carafe. “My grandparents left me the land when they passed. Spent a couple years building this place.”