Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
“Come around the back way. There’s an access road at the back end of the estate where you can park and look for the gate in the hedge back there. I’ll meet you.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
I blink, swallowing thickly as I glance at the time and then back into the studio room. My eyes land on Ramona, and I blush.
“What about the rest of the people who live in your—”
“Just trust me, okay? You going to be there after classes get out?”
I let the idea simmer in my head, which of course leads to all sorts of filthy thoughts that have me blushing.
“Okay, fine,” I whisper quickly.
“Good,” he growls. “See you soon, beautiful.”
He hangs up, leaving me shivering with forbidden excitement.
* * *
What the hell am I doing?
I step out of my parked car on the old access road, closing the door behind me. I look up at the huge old hedge covering the ancient wrought-iron fencing of the Weiss Estate, and a thin whistle comes out of my lips.
Yeah, holy shit. There’s money, then there’s “fuck-you” money, and then there’s “our family was rich before America was even a country” rich. The Weisses are that last one, and this house is just proof of it. It’s really more of a castle, if we’re splitting hairs here, and it sits on something like fifty acres of pristinely manicured lawns, hedges, rose gardens, duck ponds, and woods.
Thankfully, the access road is at the very back of the property, far from the main house. Because the idea of a member of the school board poking her head out the window and seeing me sneaking into her yard with her eighteen year old son sounds like a fucking nightmare. But that’s exactly what I’m doing—stealing into a boy’s house like I’m still in freaking high school. Though, I never actually did this in high school.
I walk along the hedge, until finally, I see the wrought iron gate. And when I step up to it, I startle as I realize Ethan is standing just on the other side of it.
“A fight? Seriously?” I mutter as he swings the gate wide, and he arches his brow like he’s amused at my sourness
“Look I was fighting because some douchebag was talking shit about you.”
“About me?”
My face pales, and Ethan quickly shakes his head.
“Not about that,” he grins. “Not you and me. Just dumb jock bullshit about ‘getting’ you.”
I blush.
“They talked shit. I mean what was I supposed to do?”
My brow furrows.
“Let them? I mean who cares?”
“I care,” he growls fiercely, making me shiver as those piercing blue eyes burn into me.
“I care a lot. And no one is talking shit about you.”
I bite my lip, and part of me wants to throw my arms around him and kiss him for being my knight in shining armor. But the other part of me is aware of how badly that could have turned out.
“How does that look, Ethan? You throwing fists to defend my honor?”
He scowls. “Jesus, Emily, I don’t fucking care how it looks.”
He moves into me quickly, and before I know it, I’m gasping as he tugs me against him, wraps his arms around me, and kisses me fiercely. I moan into his mouth, sinking into him before reason slaps me in the face. I pull away, panting, my eyes searching his.
“And if someone saw this? You and me like this?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“And I’m twenty-six!”
“So?”
“And your teacher?”
He shrugs. “So, I’ll quit art class.”
I glare at him. “The hell you will. You’re too good. Also, it wouldn’t make a difference.”
He grins at me, nodding his head.
“C’mere,” he beckons.
“What?”
“I want to show you something.”
“I—I’m not sure sneaking into your house is a good idea, Ethan. What if your mother is home? Or Ramona?”
He shakes his head. “We’re not going into the main house. C’mon.”
He takes my hand and pulls me down a path, and stupidly, I willingly follow. We walk through a gorgeous old rose garden full of ancient stone statues, and through more hedges, walking along gravel paths, and then paving stones, until suddenly we find ourselves emerging from some hedges in front of what looks like an old garage or carriage house.
“In here.”
Ethan pulls me through the side door and flips a switch, and instantly, my jaw drops as my eyes go wide.
“Oh my God…”
The big open garage space has been turned into what looks to be mostly a working art studio, with a small section set aside for his motorcycle and a workbench full of tools and greasy bike parts. Up above in a loft space under strings of garden lights is a huge wood-framed bed and an open door to a white-tiled bathroom. But the majority of the space is all art. Huge canvases, finished or half-finished, adorn the walls, with an easel to one side, paint all over the floor, and shelves and shelves of spray-cans, oil paints, watercolors, and more.