Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
On that porch, sitting on a cushioned chaise with a glass in his hand… sat Wick.
“Duchess,” he called, a slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spread across his stupidly good-looking face. “You finally made it.”
Suddenly, it all clicked into place.
Removing the HELP sign.
Having an ‘extra’ toothbrush.
The towel.
The supply of protein bars.
The new stash of water.
He wasn’t just some epic packer who was prepared for anything.
He’d found a goddamn house.
That was where he disappeared to for most of the day. Likely enjoying the electricity the solar panels on the roof provided. And food. And maybe running water.
If he had coffee in there, I was going to lose my ever-loving mind.
Who was I kidding?
I was already losing my mind.
I mean, I saw red.
If I ever scoffed at someone who said that they blacked out and woke up with blood on their hands, well, I owed those people an apology.
Because one moment, I was standing there, gaping at the sight before me.
The next, I was running at Wick as he got to his feet.
I took him down to the ground, both of us landing with a grunt, then scrambling, grabbing, rolling, twisting, fighting for dominance.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t curse. Or demand answers.
It was pure, physical anger right then as I threw my weight upward, hooked my legs around his hips, rolled him under me once again, then tried to rise up to… I don’t know. Hit him? Scream in his face? It was anyone’s guess.
It didn’t get to that point, though, as Wick brought up his legs, crossing them around my neck, and pushing with the superior strength of his lower body until I was bending backward toward the ground once again.
I wasn’t in the mood to play fair, though.
He certainly hadn’t been when he’d been keeping this place from me.
Reaching around his thighs, I balled up a fist and slammed down on his crotch.
The way the air rushed out of him was probably a lot more satisfying than it should have been.
I took advantage of his pain, rising over him again, grabbing for his arms like I was going to cuff him or something, despite not having those supplies on me at the moment.
But Wick wasn’t distracted for long.
He wrenched his hands away, both of us fighting for the upper hand.
Then he did it.
Grabbed both of my wrists.
He threw his weight, rolling me under him as he yanked up my arms and pinned them to the wooden porch above my head.
Everything stilled.
All there was in the world was his weight pressing down on me, our mingled labored breathing, the closeness of our faces.
Wick’s green eyes captured mine, refused to let go.
And, suddenly, all the blood that was rushing through my body from the adrenaline started to pool somewhere… really inconvenient.
Wick’s gaze triangulated between my eyes and mouth, making my lips part and my heartbeat thrum harder as his lids went heavy, as a heat filled their green depths.
My own traitorous gaze slipped down to his mouth as desire pinged off my nerve endings.
He was seconds from leaning down, from pressing his lips to mine. When we both heard footsteps approaching.
And thank God for that.
I couldn’t let this guy kiss me.
I was pissed at him.
Right?
My head whipped over, finding a short, well-built man standing there in a lightweight white linen button-up and shorts, his tanned skin gleaming in the sun, his dark, amused eyes looking down at us.
“Is this your house?” I asked, yanking against Wick’s hold. But he was like a vice. He only released me when he wanted to. I scrambled out from under him. “Because you’re harboring a fugitive. He’s wanted by the law, just so you know. You don’t want a criminal like him in your home.”
I mean, he was a white-collar criminal. But this guy didn’t know that.
“It’s not his house,” Wick said as I got to my feet. “It’s my house.”
“What?” My gaze shot to him, still on his knees on the porch, looking up at me.
“This is my house.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is.”
“Got the deed and everything. To the house. And the island.”
“The island?” Did I have sunstroke or something? There was no way he was claiming to own the house and the whole damn island.
“You’re bleeding,” Wick said, gaze on my knee.
“Yeah, it hurts like a bitch from falling on it too. What do you mean you own—”
“Come on,” Wick said, getting to his feet.
“Come where? Into your remote island house that may or may not have some creepy serial killer room? Yeah, no thanks.”
“There’s a shower. Powdered teas and juices I can turn into drinks. Food. Somewhere soft to sit. Booze.”
“Coffee?”
“Afraid not,” he said, actually looking apologetic. “Come on,” he said, making his way to the door, sliding it open, then holding an arm out to invite me in.
“Who is he?” I asked, nodding toward the man who was still standing there silently, watching us.