Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Soft amber lighting casts a glow over the wooden tables, the atmosphere heavy with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled seafood and hearty stews. Vintage photographs of Sitka’s history, fishing boats, and native Alaskan art adorn the walls, giving the place a timeless charm.
Monty and I used to eat here often. Part of me wishes he was here now.
Over the past two months, the tension between him and the guys has relented. The three of them get along remarkably well when I’m not around. They actually seem to enjoy one another’s company.
Sometimes, I wonder if my presence holds them back from a deeper bond.
Monty will never have the connection Leo and Kody share, but he’s trying. When they’re in the gym or discussing business, he interacts with them like an older brother.
But when I’m there, he’s the husband.
Except he’s not the husband I knew before my abduction.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. It’s so many things. He’s more humble and less guarded. More self-reliant and less pampered. He’s still a controlling, overbearing, hot-tempered alphahole, but he no longer storms off during an argument. He concedes and compromises. He drives his own vehicles, spends less time in his office, and sees a therapist. A therapist he hates, but he’s doing it. He’s getting help.
Bottom line, the man he is today wouldn’t crush a pregnancy stick beneath his shoe. He’s matured since that morning.
In a good way.
In a great way.
In a terrifyingly attractive, sexy, he’s-no-longer-mine, and dammit-I-can’t-think-about-him-like-that way.
A server places our dishes before us. She gives me a friendly smile and turns to Leo and Kody, tucking that smile between nibbling teeth while batting sultry eyes.
I can’t even be mad about it. They have that effect on every woman they encounter. Just like Monty.
We ordered a feast to share. Freshly caught salmon, seared to perfection and drizzled with a tangy lemon-butter sauce. A bowl of Alaskan king crab bisque, its rich fragrance bursting with a promise of flavor. And a platter of roasted vegetables, their vibrant colors bubbling through the butter.
Kody pours us each a glass of imported blueberry vodka and raises his drink, his obsidian eyes meeting ours.
“To Frankie’s garden that will never grow.” He smiles an actual smile that crooks up both sides of his mouth. “Now we can laugh about it over a real meal far away from Hoss.”
“Whatever, you ass.” I laugh.
“And to the pemmican that saved us.” Leo’s eyes glint. “May we never eat it again.”
“Here, here,” we say in unison, clinking our glasses together.
The vodka tastes smooth, with a hint of sweetness and a harsh afterburn. It doesn’t come close to Kody’s recipes.
We’ve been sampling all the vodka around town, checking out the competition.
There is no competition.
When his distillery opens, it will blow minds and taste buds. Vodka connoisseurs and critics will come from all over the world to sample his product. Locals and tourists will show up in droves to be part of the scene. His vision for the ambiance is classy and sophisticated and wildly surprising for my snow cabin boy.
I should’ve known better.
We’ve come a long way from counting beans and rationing pemmican. After two months of good nutrition and exercise, I feel more like myself, stronger, curvier. Curvy for me, anyway.
But Leo and Kody? Yeah. They’ve filled out, their bodies more sculpted and powerful than ever.
Leo’s once lanky frame is now stacked with lean muscle, his shoulders broad and strong. He keeps his beard trimmed and shoulder-length hair neatly braided into a knot, looking like a cleaned-up Norse warrior with pectorals sculpted from marble.
Every woman in the restaurant is hot under the table and squirming in her seat as every gaze openly stares at the hot Viking. Hard to look away from his chiseled jawline and those battle-honed blue and gold eyes. And his body. His shirt molds so tightly to his well-defined chest that it shows off every carved ridge.
Kody, too, has transformed. His already impressive physique has become even more imposing, each muscle perfectly defined under his tanned skin. His dark hair, short and tousled, accentuates his brooding, intense gaze. The scars crisscrossing his arms and back add to the aura of danger and allure that draws every eye in the room. But it’s his unwavering focus on me that sets my heart racing.
I don’t care how many women ogle them. I’m the only one who gets to see them in the gym, brawling and pumping iron, shirtless and sweaty.
I’m the only one who gets to feel them when they’re fucking, thrusting and grunting, deliciously naked and rock-hard.
My guys never disappoint.
Watching them navigate their new world is both bittersweet and rewarding. They’ve adapted quickly in such a short amount of time. They’ve always been hardworking. In Hoss, it was physical labor, relying on their powerful physiques to hunt, gather, and survive.