Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I was expecting someone older, even though the business was called Shaw & Sons. There was at least a 50 percent chance that I would meet the ‘son’ portion of the business. But I was working off cliches when it came to fishermen, and I was thinking of the old guy from Jaws—a weathered, cynical hermit, wearing a beanie with straw-like, gray hair poking out of it, muttering about doll’s eyes.
I got the beanie right.
The man in question was wiping his hands with a rag. They were large, tanned and attractive. Working hands, that I could tell immediately. His sinewy forearms were on display in a white cable-knit sweater he’d pushed up to his elbows. The sleeves were tight over prominent biceps, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. His skin was golden, weathered, but he was not old. My age, maybe younger. The smile on his face definitely made him seem younger. It was bright, almost carefree. Carefree was an impossible trait to find in someone over thirty; even the most sheltered of those had experienced and been jaded by life in some way, shape or form. The world was burning, billionaires were reigning, and humankind was generally awful—there was no way to escape that. But this guy was grinning like we lived in a fucking utopia.
With his angular face, slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones, he looked like he was doing a photoshoot, cosplaying as a fisherman for some magazine.
I was immediately suspicious of him. Small-town fishermen were only attractive in Hallmark movies. He had to be a serial killer or something. Which was right on par with the men I was attracted to, and my pussy was fluttering, so it made sense.
His gray eyes were doing the same once-over of me as I was him.
“Uh-oh. Am I getting sued?” His voice was deep, thick, pleasing. Masculine. But there was also that same carefree undertone as his smile, an easygoing nature I’d never experienced—even with Kip, who did really well at pretending he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You think I’m a lawyer?” I snickered, hand on my hip, ignoring the pleasant warmth that his tone sent over my skin. My tone was not pleasant. I wasn’t capable of that.
He reached for the coffee I had noticed earlier, taking a long sip, still looking me over. He was doing it shamelessly, with a warmth to his eyes that was unhidden. A man appreciating a woman. It was honest.
And though I’d had many men check me out in my adult life, I rarely got the reaction that I did now. Toes curling in my heels, desire pooling between my legs.
It was a look, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t tickling my clit.
“You look like a lawyer,” he answered, after swallowing another sip of his coffee“Expensive one at that.”
I tilted my head at him. “Calling someone a high-class hooker is still calling them a hooker. Same principle applies when calling me a lawyer.” My voice was low, soft, as I always ensured it was when I was throwing barbs, which was most of the time when I was speaking.
The man in front of me—maybe fisherman, maybe Shaw son, and definitely unhinged serial killer—chuckled. The sound was warm, genuine, and fuck if it didn’t make my nipples harden, just a little.
A laugh... I hadn’t heard an attractive man laugh, truly laugh, before. That didn’t include Kip because he was too familiar to find attractive, and his laughs were always forced to cover up the depths of his grief. And none of the men I surrounded myself with laughed like they didn’t have a care in the world.
The men I surrounded myself with didn’t care about the world, but they cared a fuck of a lot about money and power.
“You don’t like lawyers, I assume,” he teased, cradling his coffee.
My lips thinned, and I didn’t shift underfoot even though the wooden planks beneath my feet were killer on my heels. “Were you hyped up to have a conversation with me when you thought I was a lawyer?”
He leaned against the side of the boat, forearms resting on the hull? Edge? Whatever the fuck. “Why yes, I was. I was hyped up to have any kind of conversation with you, even if it did involve me getting sued.”
He was flirting. That was as clear as day. He was brazen, unapologetic, and good at it. As if flirting with strangers on docks in Maine was normal. Maybe it was for him. Though I couldn’t imagine many women came knocking on the door of his boat. Except maybe they did. This was a small town; he was a hot guy. I doubt he was a secret, though I’d never heard of him.
“Well, aren’t you smooth?” My voice sounded thick from my forced distaste. Flirting, simple, without games... Not something I’d engaged in in my entire adult life.