Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Yesterday, I’d kissed Rancor -- no, Marcus -- with an impulsiveness that surprised even me. I’d spent the night replaying the moment, the feel of his beard against my skin, the unexpected gentleness of his lips, the way his large hands had held me like I might shatter. I’d given into something I couldn’t resist, and now I had to face him again, pretending my heart wasn’t hammering against my ribs.
I’d barely pulled to a stop near the kitchen building when I spotted him. He stood just outside the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching my approach with that intense focus that made my skin prickle. The dark clouds behind him made him look even more imposing than usual. My throat went dry.
I killed the engine and sat for a moment, gathering my composure. I could keep my cool. So what If I’d only ever been kissed one other time, and nothing so complicated or pleasurable as the one I’d shared with Rancor? Except for the fact that I could still taste Rancor on my lips when I licked them. Simply looking at him now, even from a distance, I could feel his body against mine, could still smell his wonderfully masculine scent.
When I stepped out of the car, the air felt heavy with the coming storm. Rancor uncrossed his arms and moved toward me, each step measured and deliberate. He wore another gray T-shirt, stretched tight across his broad shoulders, and the same worn jeans. His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze softened when he met mine.
“Cora,” he said, just my name, a greeting and an acknowledgment rolled into one.
“Hey.” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, aiming for casual and missing by miles. “Looks like we’re racing the weather.”
He glanced up at the darkening sky, then back at me. “Storm’s coming fast.” His voice remained quiet, measured. “Better hurry.”
I nodded, moving to the back of my truck. The tailgate dropped with a metallic groan, revealing stacks of grocery bags. Rancor moved beside me, close enough I could feel the heat radiating from him but not touching.
We fell into a rhythm, each grabbing bags and carrying them toward the kitchen. The first fat raindrops hit as we made our third trip, spattering against the dust like small explosions. The wind picked up, bending the trees at the compound’s edge.
“Crap,” I said, eyeing the remaining bags as the rain intensified. My hair began sticking to my neck, dampening quickly.
Rancor studied the sky, his expression tightening. He moved past me, gathering twice as many bags as before, his muscles straining beneath his shirt. “Storm’s gonna hit hard.”
As if on cue, lightning flashed, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that I felt in my chest. The sky opened up, rain suddenly pouring down in sheets. Within seconds, I was soaked, my T-shirt clinging to my skin, water running into my eyes.
Rancor set his bags inside the kitchen door on the counter. “Leave it,” he called over the roar of the downpour as he shut the door. “Prospects are on the way.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
I hesitated, watching rain pound into the remaining groceries. “But the food --”
“Is taken care of.” Another flash of lightning, another boom of thunder. The rain hammered down harder, stinging my exposed skin. Rancor held out his hand. “I’ll get you some dry clothes and you can wait out the storm with me.” He ducked his head slightly, but not before I saw a stain of red blush on his cheeks above his beard line. “I mean, if you want to.”
I stared at his outstretched hand. This was different from a kiss in the compound yard. This was entering his private space. Crossing a line that had nothing to do with physical touch and everything to do with trust.
As if on cue, the door burst open to admit two younger men. A strong gust of wind nearly knocked me sideways and the decision made itself. I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine, warm despite the cold rain, and he tugged me away from the kitchen, deeper into the warehouse. His grip was firm but gentle as he led me through the massive building to the back of the common room. From there, he took me through another door leading to a long, wide hallway with doors at intervals along the walls.
Rancor -- Marcus -- moved down the hall to stop in front of one of the doors. He fished a key from his pocket. When he pushed the door open, he stood aside, letting me enter first.
I stepped into his space, taking in everything at once. The apartment was sparse but clean, with an open layout that revealed a small kitchen area, a living room with a worn leather couch, and a doorway I assumed led to a bedroom. What caught my attention, though, was the wall of windows on one side, partially covered by a roof overhang to create a sheltered porch. Through the glass, I could see the garden below, not being lashed by rain.