Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Shut up,” Kat said.
“No,” Rory gasped. “Augie, you don’t! Tell me you don’t send them money.”
Katrina shot a guilty look at my sister, and Rory gasped again. “You too? Jesus, what a bunch of bleeding hearts.”
“Did someone summon me?” Stevie called as he flitted to the table with a quaint white basket lined with a cotton napkin. He set the basket in the center of the table and then handed me a stack of small plates. “Tra-la! Selection of all the primo shit, my dear. Insider tip: the donut holes have a Bailey’s Irish Cream drizzle on them. If you want a little relaxation on this beautiful fall morning, they’re your best bet.”
Before we could even say thank you, he dashed off with a wave and a “Toodles” called over his shoulder. The three of us watched his pert butt wiggle back behind the counter in a painted-on pair of skinny jeans.
“See something you like?” a deep voice rumbled from behind me. I closed my eyes and inhaled, half hoping I’d imagined the sexy voice and half hoping it was real. Saint’s fresh scent enveloped me, and I opened my eyes again, spinning around to see the gorgeous specimen before me.
I may have whimpered a little bit.
My bratty sister coughed the word “beefcake” before turning on her most giant smile as if it had never happened. “You must be the biter.”
“Oh my fucking god,” I cried. “You did not just say that.”
The rich sound of Saint’s laugh rumbled through me, and his hand landed on my shoulder for a brief squeeze. He leaned in to speak closer to my ear. “It’s not a lie.”
My entire body shuddered, and my cock may have dripped a tiny bit. I tried to take a sip of my mocha but choked on it when Saint straightened back up and told my sister, “Don’t kid yourself. This one’s no kitten either. More like a feral cat.”
Rory’s eyes lit up like a fucking Vegas slot machine hitting the triple diamond. She’d struck brother gossip pay dirt and damned well knew it.
“So, uh. This is Saint. Saint, this is my sister, Rory, and—”
“I recognize the lovely Katrina Duvall. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Saint said, reaching an arm past me to shake. The bakery was crowded enough to push his body into mine when he reached, and I nudged my nose over to surreptitiously sniff his shirt.
Okay, his pit.
It smelled amazing.
I gulped. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Oh god.
Rory lifted a brow at me like, Really, you stupid motherfucker. That all you got?
Kat narrowed her eyes and tilted her head at me like, Did you just sniff the man’s armpit?
“I, uh…” Was it high-pitched in here, or was that just me? “I should get to work? At the shop?”
Rory shot Kat a look. “This is really happening. Kat, get out your phone and start getting this on video.”
I shook my head as fast as I could. “Don’t be ridonkulous. It’s just a…”
Oh god. I didn’t just say ridonkulous.
Rory nodded her head enthusiastically. Oh yes you did. You sooo did.
Fuck.
I glanced at Kat in desperation, but she was busy fumbling her phone out of her bag.
“I’m sorry,” I choked. “I have a shopment coming. Shop ment. Ship mont. Ship… mint.”
I shook my head and scraped my chair back, accidentally knocking it right into Saint’s gut. His grunt of pain shocked some sense into me.
“Oh god! Saint, no. Oh no. Saint. I’m so sorry. I’m Saint sorry. Saint… so…” I looked at him in mortified horror, expecting to see either annoyance at me impaling him with the back of my chair or laughter at what a fool I was making of myself. What I saw wasn’t either one of those.
He was worried about me. The concern in his face was genuine and hit me right in the solar plexus, taking my breath away with a sudden whoosh. Saint gave Rory and Kat a quick, polite goodbye before wrapping his big arm around me, tucking me into his side, and dragging me through the crowd and out the door.
Once we’d crossed the street onto the quieter space of the grassy square park, Saint quickly found us a bench to sit on.
“Take a breath, sweet… ah… of some sweet air. Some fresh air. Some sweet, fresh air,” he said. His arm was still around me, and I found myself leaning into his solid warmth.
“It’s contagious,” I said with a soft chuckle after a moment.
“What is?”
“The stupid mouth. You caught it from me. Sorry about that.”
“You don’t have a stupid mouth,” he said. “I happen to know from experience you have a sweet mouth. A soft mouth, a sensual—”
A sound in my throat interrupted him. Our faces were only inches apart, and I thought I heard myself whisper the word please under my breath against my better judgment.