Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry.” He works his throat and softens the grip on my neck. “I’m sorry for hurting you, but I’m not sorry for protecting you.”
He ducks his head and ghosts his lips over mine.
That tiny touch sparks electrifying awareness through my body. I feel him everywhere—the warmth of his breaths, his arousing scent, the scratch of his stubble, and that lickable, velvety, persuasive mouth.
“If his lips are moving, he’s lying.” I flatten my hands on his chest and push hard enough to separate us by several feet.
“You want the truth, Conor?” He steps forward, his eyes sharp as steel. “I love you.” Another step. “I always have.” He grabs my hips and yanks me to him. “I will never stop loving you. Doesn’t get more honest than that.”
My hands fall to his biceps, my insides twisted into a hundred knots of deceit. I can’t trust him. “It’s too late.”
“No.” He clutches the back of my head. “Tomorrow is too late.”
He captures my mouth in a kiss that ignores logic and reasoning. With a hand in my hair and the other on my hip, he bends me into his heat and sets fire to my world.
Lips gliding and mouths opening, our tongues touch, flatten together, and go wild. I jerk my hands to his shoulders, his neck, pushing him away, wrenching him closer, and rising on tip toes to deepen the kiss.
We move together angrily, frantically, not in exploration, but in remembrance. I spent the best years of my life kissing the fuck out of this man. I know his techniques, proficiencies, and turn-ons, and he knows mine.
Rolling in the meadow, tangling in my bed, sneaking off into the barn—we consume and devour in a frenzy of shared experiences. I cling to his mouth, his body, in the magic of our connection, wanting more, needing him closer, deeper, harder.
His groan vibrates through me, and his hands fall to my butt, yanking me hard against him. My fingers rove his neck and face. His hardness seeks my heat, and we grind into the friction.
Kissing, panting, and fusing, we’re a stolen moment. A desperate embrace. A beating heart with two mouths and four arms.
We kiss for an eternity, but not long enough. When we come up for air, our arms squeeze tighter, our feet planted on the porch.
Breathing heavily, he touches his brow to mine, his mouth slightly open at the edge of my vision. I slide a hand free and touch his pouty bottom lip.
“That was better than I remember.” He kisses my finger. “Don’t know how that’s possible.”
“Yeah.” I drop my palm to his chest.
Push.
I need to process this.
Just push him back.
He’s going to talk about what we just did, and I can’t trust his words.
I add pressure to my hand, but he’s already stepping back. It’s a reluctant retreat, his arms slowly lowering from my body, his boots scraping in slow motion.
Pausing just out of reach, he pulls leather work gloves from his back pocket and slides them on, head down and eyes on his task.
Dust clings to his jeans, and sweat dots his t-shirt. He’s already put in more work this morning than most men do in an entire day.
The rim of his hat rises, revealing the warmth of his eyes. “Wanna help me buck hay?”
That’s the last thing I expected out of his mouth. Stacking bales in the field is physically demanding, mindless work that involves chaps and hay hooks.
Do I want to sit in the house and get lost in my flustered thoughts? Or dive into buckets of sweat and sunshine?
“Yeah.” I flex my hands. “I’d like that.”
“Get dressed.” He smacks me hard on the butt and saunters off the porch. “I’ll meet you at the stable.”
I haven’t taken my eyes off Conor from the moment she mounted Ketchup and followed me to the south pasture. In her silence, I don’t know how she’s processing the breakup with Miles, our kiss, or the view she’s currently taking in.
Her eyes drift over the eroded land, infestation of noxious weeds, and high mounds of dirt and debris shoved to the side. It’ll take years to remove the industrial waste and return the land to its natural habitat.
“Your father did this?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say quietly, unable to stifle the bitterness in my voice. “Turns out, this land is rich in oil and natural gas.”
She shifts in the saddle, and her luminous green eyes assess mine. “And your dad thought to profit from that.”
He thought to pay off insidious debts with it.
“This is related to…” Her eyebrows gather. “It has to do with why he wanted me dead? Everything that’s happened is connected to this, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I inch Barnabe closer to her until our legs brush. “I’ll fill in those blanks, but not today.”
She sucks in an impatient breath and swats a wayward strand of hair from her face. “If my mother saw this…”