Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“What the fuck,” Braxton grumbles the minute the music comes to a stop. I’m leaning against his massive toolbox, knowing it weighs more than Braxton and me together. It has no issue withstanding the way my back is pushed against it. My arms are crossed over my chest and my ankles are crossed as well. My eyebrow is raised, and a small smile is playing on my lips. I’m ready for battle. He’s holding a wrench in his hand, oil and grease smeared on his forearms. There’s even a smudge on his forehead, but really, it’s the soft look he gives me once he realizes I’m the culprit who stopped him in his tracks.
“Hi, Braxton, how have you been? You know, since you somehow have managed to duck out of everything that included me in the past three weeks I’ve been home?” I question.
“That’s what you’re coming at me with? The same could be said for you. It’s taken you three weeks to get your cute ass to me too.” It seems Braxton is in a playful mood today. What a complete turnaround from the last interaction we had.
“Hi, Rowen, how are you?” I blow out a puff of air, letting him know he’s annoying me. I mean, he couldn’t even say hello. “Are words too good for you now?”
“Rowen,” he whisper growls, the word slipping from his lips, causing my thighs to clench. It’s the same way he said my name all those years ago, and my body is a slave to his, like his own personal harlot.
“Oh no, you don’t get to come at me with that,” I manage to say even though my body wants nothing more than to be plastered against his.
“Office. Now,” he demands. This is another side of Braxton I haven’t witnessed. My traitorous body does what he orders, but not before making sure he can see the swish in my skirt that even I know accentuates my legs, especially in the wedge sandals I’m wearing.
Two
Braxton
Fuck, she’s not wrong. Though I’ll never admit that to her. I knew Rowen was home. Everyone who was anyone in town was talking about her being home and how she’s looking for a job now that she finished her college degree. As if I didn’t know—the best part about having a business account and two brothers who have some form of background in the technology and bodyguard industry is you learn things along the way. I wasn’t an idiot when she requested me on my personal pages. I accepted. This was the way she could see what I was doing, which was fucking nothing except digging my way out of debt and getting my shit taken care of. I knew when she came back home, I wasn’t going to let anyone else snap her up. Fuck that noise. She’s been mine since I gave her that first orgasm, and I’ll be the only one giving them to her from now unto forever. Yeah, I checked every post she put out there. She might have been living the college life, but I saw that she was always with the girls from her dorm that first year, and then her cousin Berkley transferring there the next year. Those two were as thick as thieves. I was worried they would be little hell-raisers, but apparently Bridger put his foot down after they moved into an apartment. I laughed my ass off when Drake and Leo were talking about the fact that Bridger was grumbling that out of all three of his sisters, Rowen was giving him more gray hair and heartburn than Aspen and Peyton.
I understood it all too well. There were many times when I wanted to type out a message or call her just to hear her voice or see her response. I held strong though. I knew what would happen once we started down that road. I’d have her barefoot and pregnant, with no fucking regrets either. Rowen thought I didn’t know she was in my shop, but I knew right away. Not only by the slamming of her car door, but when she walked by me, her scent told me everything I needed to confirm it. Her soft floral smell wrapped in everything you could tie to a woman with pure seduction on her mind. I’m not falling into her trap, even with the tight-as-sin top she’s wearing, the way her skin is showing way too fucking much at that. Her top is white, some kind of spaghetti strap thing, somehow defying all odds and holding her firm tits in place. It barely covers the top of her stomach and moves up more with every breath of air she takes, almost giving me that glimpse of her navel piercing. And not to mention her skirt, which might be made to appear sweet and innocent, but it’s anything but the way it’s wrapped around her body. The palms of my hands are itching to get beneath her skirt just to feel the heat radiating off her body and need alone. She is teasing me without even lifting a finger, the unmistakable mirth she has on her face, the way those baby blues were filled with joy, her soft hair falling down way past her tits that were amplified even more by the way she crossed her arms beneath them. Yeah, she is about to get dirty, real fucking dirty.