Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
You can practically see the whole thing from the front door.
It’s a cozy place with a rustic dresser and bed, cushioned wooden chairs, a modern kitchenette, a jacuzzi tub just out back on the deck, and a spacious bathroom on the other side of the small house.
I look at him, blushing. “Um, sorry, I know this isn’t the usual kind of place you stay—”
“It’s perfect,” he says, catching my eyes.
He walks forward and lays a claiming kiss on my lips while Andy scampers around, exploring the room.
“For real?” I whisper.
“I’ve got you and I’ve got my dog. This place would have to be crawling with bedbugs or sand fleas to suck,” he says sincerely.
I smile so hard I almost break.
“You can pretend to be someone else here, you know.” I’m thinking of Lanai as I reach down to stroke the pup pawing at my leg for attention.
“Better plan. We pretend we’re someone else together. How does that sound, Mrs. Farmer?”
I stand again and close the space between us. “Pretty wild. Especially if you’re saying we’re married.”
The almost shy way his grin lights up his face makes me laugh. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bag of dog treats, throwing Andy a cookie.
“We’re Mr. and Mrs. Farmer, and Hoover’s our dog.”
“Hoover?” I repeat.
“He sucks up every crumb,” Brock points out.
No argument there.
I lay my hand on his massive arm, loving how hard he is.
“Watch out. That’s a role Andy and I could get into.” My hand drifts to his wrist.
“Me, too, woman,” he growls back, twining his hand through mine.
After a few more kisses, we unpack and then get 'Hoover' leashed for a longer walk on the beach.
“There he goes in the sand again. Poor little guy,” I say with a laugh, watching the dachshund-lab struggle through the high dunes. “We should have packed some dog boots.”
He lets go of my hand, opting to drop his arm around my waist instead. “Hoover’s no wimp. You remember the last big snowstorm the city had last winter? I thought he’d dig tunnels all the way to Vancouver.”
I laugh as we walk to the edge of the water.
Massive waves sparkle like silver hills as they churn, crashing against the towering rocky islands just off the shore.
A few bone-white seabirds soar overhead, squawking, and the brave little pupper goes wild, barking and rearing up.
“Easy, boy,” Brock says, kneeling to scratch his ear. “Last time you picked a fight with a goose twice your size, you didn’t come out on top.”
“He did not!”
“He did. This guy thinks he’s a Doberman in a bratwurst’s skin.”
The breeze picks up then, tumbling my hair. Even though it’s warm, the wind has a slight chill to it, and I press myself closer to the safe wall of his chest.
“Hold this.” Brock hands me the leash.
I watch him as he takes off his jacket, drapes it around my shoulders, and stares at me like he’s awestruck.
“What?” I whisper.
“You, Pippa. You steal all my words. Here we are in this gorgeous place, the sun shining down, and I can barely look away long enough to give a damn. You were meant to be my art, woman—and I’m not an artsy guy. I just love the way you look when you’re content and wrapped around me. Love how the wind tries to pull you away and I get to hold on tighter. Love how your eyes shame the sky every time you look at me. Fuck, just like—” He stops, craning his face to my neck, inhaling me.
“Lanai,” I finish, my voice trembling.
What is happening?
I think I know.
I’m afraid to admit it as he leans down, caressing the side of my face, bringing his mouth to mine.
The kiss is gentle and sweet and slowly turns possessive.
I lean in closer, which only deepens it, my heart fit to bursting.
I’m almost glad Andy pulls on his leash, growling at a little crab popping out of a hole in the sand.
I need the distraction.
God, I’m going to need a lot of them if I want any prayer of not having Brock Winthrope bring me to my knees.
Too many unsaid words whisper against my tongue as our mouths play.
I lavish his taste, his feel, his intensity.
Then Andy barks, darting for the crab before the leash jerks him backward.
“He’s as bad as a five-year-old.” Chuckling, Brock backs away from me slowly with a lingering gaze.
“He’s wonderful. He has a pretty awesome owner, even if said owner probably wishes we were in a fancy resort.” I smile, wondering if I need to tether myself to the ground.
A single glance makes me float.
“Bullshit, Mrs. Farmer. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
“Yeah? Nowhere besides standing in the cold without a coat and a crazy dog?” I challenge.
He kisses my nose. “What cold? All I feel is fire.”
And I’m grinning until my face hurts as we saunter around with Andy for another half hour or so, letting him bounce after crabs and birds as fast as his toothpick legs can carry him.