Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Tiernan, thank you for the dream of a lifetime. Love Saoirse.
Naturally, the first thought that entered her head was that the woman was thanking him for sex with a werewolf, but she could be jumping to the wrong conclusion. Besides, it wasn’t any of her business. She wasn’t in a relationship with Tiernan. So, why did the thought annoy her?
Annoyed or not, she looked through the book, the beauty of the wolves in the wild captivating her attention. She soon was envious not only that Saoirse had gotten to see the wolves, but that Tiernan had probably been the one to escort her around the preserve. Envious or not, the book was still amazing, and she hoped to see the wolves for herself. Though if she accepted the position here, she would see them every day, become part of their lives, part of their pack as Tiernan had said. The idea that was possible warmed her heart. She placed the book aside and picked up a book on wolves, knowing there was probably nothing new in it that she already hadn’t read but hoping it would spark something in her that might shed some light on the puzzling mystery.
Sleep soon tempted her eyes, and she hurried into her pjs and got into bed with all intentions of asking Tiernan about the book and Saoirse in the morning.
A light sound penetrated Olivia’s sleep, waking her, and when her eyes opened it was to see Laird, the large black wolf, or as Tiernan would have her believe, him in werewolf form, standing beside the bed, a soft whine coming from him.
She felt no fear, only worry for the wolf. She leaned over the edge of the bed and without thinking about it rested her hand against his face. “Is something wrong, Laird?”
He pressed his face against her hand, while keeping his green eyes focused on her, then he moved closer to her and brushed her cheek with the side of his face.
His warm fur tickled her cheek, and a tender whine whispered near her ear, sending gooseflesh racing over her. And whether it was wise or not, she pressed her cheek against his fur, drinking deep of his rugged scent, and whispered, “You do have my heart, Laird.”
One last brush of his face against her cheek, and he stepped away from the bed and stared at her for a moment before walking out the door that sat ajar.
She woke with a start the next morning and lay there wondering about last night. She didn’t have to wonder if it had been real, she could smell his scent on the sheet where he had rested his head.
With endless questions to ask Tiernan, she hurried to take a shower and hurried she did since the water wasn’t very hot, then dressed quickly in her black leggings and an oversized black and white tweed sweater. She left her hair to dry on its own after rigorously towel-drying it and, with a twist, secured it to the back of her head with a clip. She checked to make sure Tiernan wasn’t outside her door then gathered the tray with the teapot and mug and the book filled with the photos of wolves and followed the delicious scent that had to be coming from the kitchen.
She set the tray on the end of the long table and placed the book near the plates he had set for two.
“I heard you stirring so I got cooking,” Tiernan said without turning around.
Werewolves were known to have exceptional hearing. Was she really considering that he was a werewolf? He did have an impressive build, admiring the way his jeans hugged his backside, and his red knit shirt hugged his muscles and his broad shoulders. And she liked the way his unruly dark hair brushed along the tops of his shoulders.
“What are you making?” she asked, walking over to him.
He turned with a grin. “You need to taste some of the food that makes up a full Scottish breakfast, at least the foods Fay leaves for me in the fridge ready to heat and those I can cook without too much difficulty.” He pointed to the pans on the stove, “Lorne sausage, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, baked beans,” —he pointed to the bowl of eggs— “you might want to fry the eggs, I’m good at scrambled but fried is a challenge, and, of course, toast. I left out black pudding, tattie scones, though I do love those, and haggis, an acquired taste.”
She laughed. “I’m not going to be able to eat for the rest of the day.”
In no time, they were enjoying an array of food and hot tea.
“How can you kill an egg like that, woman?” Tiernan asked with a laugh.
Olivia laughed as well. “I cannot eat a fried egg unless it is thoroughly cooked.”