Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I never thought I'd be the motherfucker who wanted a wife and kids but seeing them living their best lives made me realize how goddamn lonely my life has become. I've just been too busy to do anything about it.
Maybe that's changing because I was done for the minute Peyton snatched our beer off the table, fire in those pretty forest green eyes, and tossed it all over the dick who wouldn't take no for an answer. I couldn't take my eyes off her. And seeing that prick raise his hand to her?
Hell. No.
He's lucky I didn't break his jaw on principal before I had Jett toss his sorry ass from the bar because that's precisely what I wanted to do. No one threatens a woman in front of me. And no one tries to put their hands on the woman who has my blood roaring in my veins like a goddamn avalanche.
It's been roaring all night. I can't think through the tumult of sound and sensation. I want to be all over her…right fucking now. Maybe then I'll be able to breathe again.
Or maybe I won't. Who the fuck knows? I saw this shit happen often enough back in Nashville to know how it works. There's no fighting it. There's no denying it. Once she's under your skin, there's no getting her out again. It's kismet or destiny or something equally as powerful that means the same goddamn thing: permanence.
I am fucked.
It's about damn time.
Not telling her that I'm the hockey player she came to the bar to spy on tonight is a dick move. But I'm not completely fucking brainless. Had I told her that I'm the player looking for an assistant, she wouldn't be here right now. She would have bolted like an Olympian.
There was no fucking way I was letting that happen. I fully intend to tell her the truth. I'm just hedging my bets first. I need her hooked on me before I spill the messy details. Otherwise, I don't stand a chance in hell of convincing her that she wants to stick around.
She's a pretty little goddess. I'm an asshole in skates.
The playing field isn't remotely close to even here.
She stops just inside the door to the kitchen, spinning in a circle. Her long blonde hair flows around her, sending vanilla wafting through the air toward me.
Christ. I want to wrap it around my fist and taste those pouty lips.
Her wide eyes meet mine, burning with curiosity. "Please tell me you actually cook in this kitchen, Logan."
"Concerned about my health, baby?"
"No." Her nose scrunches. "I'm concerned you're not giving this kitchen nearly as much love as it deserves."
I lean back against the door, grinning at her. "So you like my kitchen, huh?"
"Uh, clearly." She steps deeper into the room, gaping around her. "Jesus. Do you know how much damage I could do in here?"
A quiet laugh rumbles from my lips. "I can guess. Especially if it involves beer."
She shoots me a dirty look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Fuck, she's sexy as hell with that pert little nose and those dimples. Her jeans mold to her ass, lifting her round cheeks in a way that's making me irrationally jealous of the fucking material.
I've never wanted to be a pair of jeans before now.
"Do you actually cook in here or is it just for show like the rest of your ridiculously fancy house?" she asks, running her fingertips along the marble island…where she'll be in about two point five seconds.
"Oh, I cook. I eat." I smirk, pushing away from the wall to stalk after her. "I'm starving right now as a matter of fact."
"You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. The odds of a hangover are…" She trails off with an adorable squeak when I press myself up against her from behind, caging her in against the island.
"I'm not thinking about eating food, Peyton," I growl, nuzzling my face up against her throat as my hands settle on her hips, hauling her back against me. We fit like puzzle pieces slotting together, hard against soft. The sensation of her in my arms is addictive.
She's soft and sweet, and she smells incredible. Best damn thing I've ever had my hands on. Is tying her to my bed and keeping her there permanently an option? I'm guessing not. Goddammit.
Rules are bullshit constructs meant to make a man as rabid as possible.
"M-maybe you should e-eat then," she says, resting her head back against my chest.
"Can't," I grunt, curving my hand around her jaw to angle her head.
Her lips part slightly, her glossy eyes locked with mine. "Why not?"
"Don't know what those lips feel like yet. I can't eat the rest of you before I even experience a taste of that heaven." I brush my nose along hers, eliciting a shiver from her. "I've been thinking about it since you stole our beer."