Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Do I care? No, not tonight. Tonight, all bets are off.
This dilemma is debated for less than a second because anger and exhaustion kick modesty out of the way. I have exactly five hours to sleep before I have to get up and do it all over again and not a minute to spare.
As I march to the paddock, I catch the lights on in the guesthouse and make a sharp left turn in that direction. Pounding on the door happens, lots of it and with no hesitation whatsoever. I, the person who needs to be up at dawn, shouldn’t be the one dealing with this nonsense. I didn’t sign up for this and the loss of my sacred space, as well. And yet here I am.
When the door finally swings all the way open, Shane stands before me wearing a questioning expression, reading glasses, a ratty plaid robe, and sweatpants. That’s it. Two articles of clothing and one accessory. The rest of him is naked. The chest dusted with dark hair in my direct line of sight gets my immediate and total attention, another up-close and personal experience that will no doubt invade my dreams later. If I ever get to them.
I’m embarrassed to admit my body goes beyond the standard-issue hot and bothered. It gets a foreign feeling it hasn’t felt in ages. Credit where credit is due, though. His chest really is a work of art. Ancient Greek sculptors would weep in their graves if they could see this man. My fingers itch to skim over the hard ridges of his stomach, my short nails scraping through the dark dusting of hair on his chest.
The mental malfunction lasts for only a minute, thankfully. He clears his throat and the trance is broken. I really have to put a stop to this lechery because A: he thinks I’m a kid, and B: he’s taken. What part of either of those facts does my body not understand?
My eyes meet his and my mood takes another turn for the worse when I recall that his brother is washing his ball sac in my animals’ drinking water.
“What’s up?” he asks when I fail to speak fast enough for his liking.
“What’s up? Did you just ask what’s up?”
“Yeah, it’s midnight and I’m working. What’s the nature of your visit?”
Oh, no. I will not accept attitude from this one.
“What’s up, Hemingway, is that your brother is causing problems again. He’s in the paddock soaking his ass in my animals’ water trough. Come fetch your boy.”
With that said, I don’t wait for a response. I turn on my heels and dash in the direction of the godawful sound. Which has not abated one iota. In fact, it sounds like it’s getting louder.
The man in question is exactly where I saw him last, in the donkey’s water trough. Unfortunately for me, he appears naked. You know how I know this? The moon is full tonight and the sky clearish. I can see perfectly his bare arms and legs dangling over the rim of the tub. I highly doubt he remembered to put on swim trunks, but a girl can dream.
Pepper and Hazel are crowded under the run-in shed, while the mini horses, Raven, Pumpkin Spice, and Piglet––as bold as brass––are inspecting the intruder. Piglet has his snout directly over the water like he’s about to bob for apples. God forbid.
“Quit your bitching,” I hiss after a particularly bad broken high note and shoo the ponies aside. “You’re going to wake the neighborhood.”
Aidan scans me from head to toe and gives me a lopsided smirk. “Neighbors?”
“Yes!”
He glances at an approaching Hazel. “All I see is a bunch of asses.”
Hazel, who’s reclaimed her natural curiosity and is now standing at the foot of the tub, doesn’t look pleased with this guy splashing about in her water.
“Funny, I see only one ass,” I counter.
He makes a finger gun. Then thinks the better of it and shrugs instead.
“You’re drunk,” I announce, because there’s no question; I can smell it. “That’s against the rules. Where’d you get it?”
“I’ll never tell, but she’s a sweet lady.”
Freaking Mona.
“My brother hates me,” he grunts, head thrown back like someone in physical pain.
Oh, please with the drama.
As for his brother hating him, I disagree. All one needs to witness is his brother’s worried expression every time he looks at this loser to know hate plays no role between these two.
“I doubt it,” is the best I can do. Drunk, depressed, whatever he is, it’s not my job to make him feel better. My job is to foster him for the next month and a half. That’s all I agreed to. I can keep him alive. Other than that, he’s not my concern.
“I’m a fuck-up…”
Well, at least he’s honest. “Stop being so awesome. You’ll ruin me for all other men.”