Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I was twisting the loose thread on my steering wheel, my gaze on the gate, when there was suddenly a man at the side of my Jeep.
I gasped and jerked back, but didn’t get far due to the seatbelt that was still around my body.
“Shit, you scared the hell out of me.” I placed my hand over my heart when I realized that it was him.
Shasha.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, leaning his hands on the roof of my Jeep.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, wondering idly how it was that the man smelled so good despite being outside in the sun for hours and hours this morning. He still looked just as put together now as he did when I’d first seen him this morning.
I also really, really wanted to steal that shirt.
It—and he—smelled divine.
I’d bet it’d be pretty awesome to fall asleep wrapped up in that scent.
“I’m here to, uh,” I scrambled. “You didn’t take your prize money home or your new gadgets.”
I reached over into the seat beside me, unknowingly putting my ass into his face, and grabbed the box out of the seat beside me.
Earlier when I’d convinced the tournament coordinator that Shasha and I were great friends, and he’d had to leave for a family emergency, she’d given it to me without a thought.
I’d felt somewhat terrible about lying to her, but I’d needed a reason to be there in case he caught me.
Which was good that I did, because I hadn’t even been here five minutes and the man had not only found me but confronted me.
Speaking of the man in question, I glanced at him in the side mirror and saw that his body was only inches away from my butt, which was most definitely in his face. And his eyes were taking in said butt.
I came back over and unclicked my seat belt.
“Why didn’t you just come to the gate?” he asked. “And how did you know where I lived?”
“You were on the news,” I lied.
His brows rose. “A few months ago. My friend, Viveka, was the woman that was killed at the mouth of this street.”
His eyes zeroed in on my face, studying me intently.
I probably should’ve stopped there, but…
“She was a really good friend,” I said. “And my brothers told me that they built your house. And I’m allowed to know that because technically I’m a part of their business. I helped provide some startup costs, and I’m a partial owner of their business. I miss my friend. I know you have cameras on that gate that’ll reach that far. I want to know if her husband killed her. Did he take her baby?”
He went back on his heel, keeping his palms planted on my Jeep, and stared at me intently.
I shoved the box at him and said, “You got like five thousand dollars in prize money. I brought it to you.”
He looked from my eyes to the box back to my eyes before saying, “I don’t want it.”
My brows lifted. “Who, exactly, doesn’t want five thousand dollars in cash?”
And why wasn’t he saying anything to my word vomit from earlier?
“Would you like to go get something to eat?” he asked carefully.
It was then I said, “Well, my brothers told me to stay away from you because you were dangerous.”
His eyes flared. “Then why didn’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, before reopening it and saying, “Because I want to know what happened to my friend more than I want to listen to them.”
He chuckled, then walked around the front of my Jeep and up to my passenger side.
I watched as he waited patiently with his hand on the frame, waiting for me to decide to let him in.
I gestured for him to hop inside and he slid into the Jeep with a smooth efficiency that shouldn’t be as sexy as it was, and asked, “Where do you like to eat?”
Not wanting to seem too eager to have him in my car, I said, “I’m not picky.”
“Then”—he jerked his head toward the end of the road—“start driving.”
I backed out of the driveway and headed for the end of the road.
My gaze stalled on the part of the entryway where there were still skid marks on the road where Viveka’s body had been run over by who I assumed was her husband, but the man in the seat beside me cleared his throat.
I swallowed hard and took a left—the only way you could go due to the lake topography—and started toward town.
“Hang a left here,” he said. “There’s a place down on the lake that’s quiet and serves excellent food.”
I “hung a left” and drove carefully, paying attention to the road a bit more than normal because of the man beside me.
I didn’t want him to know how bad I drove. Some of it was me, and a lot of it was how badly my Wrangler rode.