Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
What did bother me on the trip into Colorado is how fucking aware I am of her.
Her scent invaded my nose the second she closed herself inside, and it isn’t like overpowering perfume or body spray. The clean soap smell has taunted me for hours, my body betraying me, begging me to lean over and press my nose to her neck and breathe her in deeper.
I know I pulled my eyes from the road a million times, cocking them sideways with each micro-movement of her body. If her fingers moved on her lap, I noticed it. If she shifted an inch in her seat, I bore witness. If she turned her head to read a road sign, I was looking at the delicate skin of her neck.
Hell, she didn’t even have to move for my eyes to drift to her prim little pencil skirt and that tease of a fucking slit up her thigh. I was told we were leaving later in the evening because she couldn’t leave town until she got off work. I know from the smell circling around me that she showered. So why in the hell is she in a pencil skirt. I’d think she wore it to drive me fucking insane—which she is—but it was clear when she saw me in her driveway, she had no damn clue I was told I had to accompany her on this trip. I guess I could’ve argued with Kincaid because being with her every second for the next couple of days doesn’t exactly fit into my plans of getting her out of my head, but when the boss says go, yes, sir is the only valid response.
I think I hate myself more than she does by the time her navigation directs me to pull up to a small house.
I close my eyes when I put the car in park, trying to take a second to get her scent and that damn pencil skirt out of my head. I’ve never had a single fucking dirty secretary fantasy in my life, but I’d be lying if I said a few didn’t play out in my head on the drive here.
My eyes snap open when her door opens and closes just as quickly. She walks toward the front door of the house, not bothering with her suitcase and overnight bag I placed in the trunk.
I jump out, confused at her going right up to the front door and opening it like she owns the place because it was my understanding that we were going to deal with her shit-stain of a cousin tomorrow. Maybe she wants to get back to Farmington faster. Maybe she’s honestly just as annoyed as I am with this whole thing.
I doubt she wants to settle this shit between us on my dick like I’ve been considering as the best solution, but hey, we can’t all be full of good ideas.
Refusing to knock because I’m here to protect her, I shove open the front door, drawing my brows in confusion when I find a front desk rather than a regular home like I’d anticipated.
Did I miss a sign out front or something?
A clerk is on the other side of a large window cut out in the wall, eyeing me as I step closer to Sylvie.
“We don’t have any vacancies.”
“I’m with her.” I hitch a thumb in Sylvie’s direction as if it’s not obvious who I mean.
Sylvie cocks her hip out when the desk clerk takes a long moment to look me over before looking back at the woman standing at the counter.
“You said only one occupant.”
“He’s not staying with me.”
I huff a laugh because she can’t be serious.
“I call the cops on domestic disturbances,” the clerk says, handing Sylvie a key.
“You have nothing to worry about,” she assures her before spinning back around and walking past me to the front door like I don’t exist.
I follow her out, popping the trunk as she steps closer to the car.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps when I reach for the strap of my duffel bag.
“Getting our shit,” I mutter.
“I wasn’t joking inside. You’re not staying with me in that room. There’s only a queen bed.”
Ignoring her, I pull out her suitcase, wondering just what in the hell she packed to make it so damned heavy.
“I’m serious,” she growls. Honestly, if she wasn’t a foot shorter than me, I might actually be a little intimidated.
But since I could probably press my palm to her forehead and she wouldn’t even be capable of hitting me, I laugh.
“You need to find some other place tonight.” With force, she pulls the handle of her suitcase from my hand. “The next closest place is in Ouray. It’s over an hour away.”
I glare at her back as she struggles under the weight of her overnight bag and navigating the wheels of her rolling suitcase over the gravel parking lot.