Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
She looked down again, staring in disbelief. Her lower lip trembled, and this time when she looked up at me, there was a question in her eyes. “Is… is he mine?” The last word was barely audible, and a tear tracked down her check.
Damn, she was good. “Go on, pick him up.” She almost made me believe there was a puppy between us.
Sierra carefully scooped up the invisible little dog, holding him up with delight. She beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling with moisture. Then she lowered him to her face, rubbing his soft fur against her cheek.
Holy shit, she was putting me under a goddamn spell. I needed to end this before I asked for a chance to hold the puppy, too. “That was really good,” I said gruffly.
The imaginary puppy vanished, and so did the light in Sierra’s eyes. She was just a young woman again, a small, timid, ordinary woman. Or as ordinary as someone that beautiful could be.
“Thanks. It was kind of fun.”
I grinned. “Think Carter reacted that way when he first got Zeus?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s capable of that kind of emotion.”
“He’s not that bad of a guy, you know.” But Sierra wasn’t ready to hear that, so I dropped it. “Can you do another part?”
“Sure.” She infused the word with a confidence I wasn’t used to associating with her. “Anything.”
I thought for a moment. “How about one of those cranky judges on a cooking show?”
“Like a celebrity chef?”
“Yeah, a really mean one.”
Sierra’s expression turned accusing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I held up my hands. “Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s—”
“You fucking moron,” she snarled. “That’s a cast iron skillet, and you’re treating it like it’s a plastic bowl from the dollar store. If you can’t respect the tools of the trade, then you’re in the wrong line of business.”
She grumbled under her breath. “And don’t give me that. This is my show. If you can’t follow the rules, then get the fuck out of my kitchen!”
My jaw had dropped at some point during her tirade. Her voice was about an octave lower than usual, and she’d even added a flawless British accent. But that last part had been loud, and instinctively, I glanced down the hallway toward the stairs leading up to the other two bedrooms. Sierra did, too.
“Oops,” she said, using her normal voice again. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just don’t know what I’ll say if one of them asks me why I got chewed out by a pissed-off English chef.” I shook my head slowly. Sierra was the real deal. “So how exactly did I mistreat the cast iron skillet and deserve that verbal abuse?”
She giggled. “I have no idea. Except for a few things like scrambled eggs, cooking isn't really my thing. This is fun, though.”
“I’m glad you think so.” It was nice to see her smile—her real smile, that was.
“Seriously, it was. I, um, I’ve had some trouble with writing, so it’s nice to be reminded that I do know what I’m doing with acting, at least.”
“Want to talk about your writing?”
“No,” she said instantly. “Give me one more role to act.”
As I tried to think of a good part for her to play, something else occurred to me. “You don’t have a script.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, usually when you act, you’re using someone else’s words, right? But tonight, you’re using your own words.”
“Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“I’d say that’s the writer in you feeding your actor self the script.”
For a moment, she was still, thinking over what I’d said, and then she smiled. “Maybe so. Let’s see if I can do it again with a third role.”
“Okay.” I tried to think of something that’d really challenge her. I had no doubt she could handle it. “A woman being mugged at gunpoint.”
Her head tilted as she thought about it. “I’m actually trying to get away from playing the damsel in distress.”
“Okay, then be the mugger.”
She glanced upwards. “Might get loud again. Come on, give me a hard one.”
Hmm… she was such a shy young woman. Maybe a real test of her acting ability would be to make her be assertive. Suddenly, I had an idea—one that may or may not have been influenced by her using the phrase a hard one. “Okay, be a cougar. An older woman on the prowl.”
Her eyes lit up at the challenge, but then almost as quickly, they narrowed. This time there was no doubt she looked me up and down, and to my surprise, it almost made me feel a little uncomfortable.
“You work out?” Her voice was the sexy rasp of a life-long smoker, and I almost dropped my beer in surprise.
“Yes.”
“I can tell.” She put her bottle to her mouth and closed her lips around it in a way that made my cock stir. She kept her eyes on me while she gulped down half the bottle.