Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Off limits, Lyssa. Off limits.
“Ready to go?” John says hoarsely.
I stand from where I’ve been sitting on the couch waiting, smoothing the light cotton material of my skirt along my thighs. “This is all I brought to wear. Is it okay for the woods?”
His gaze lingers on my legs, slowly ticking up to my thin strapped tank top. “Yeah. We’re not going too far.”
He opens the door and gestures for me to precede him, which I do. “I’m surprised Mason even knew about this place. Central Park is about as outdoorsy as he gets.”
Following me down the porch, John grunts.
“You really hate New York, don’t you?”
“People aren’t made to live in little concrete boxes.”
I laugh, drawing his attention to my mouth. We circle around the back of the cabin and walk side by side down a wide dirt path, quickly being swallowed by the shade of surrounding trees. “I like living in an apartment, maybe because I grew up that way. It’s comforting having people around.”
“Never had much use for people.” He clears his throat. “They’re always talking. You ever notice that?”
Again, he makes me laugh and I find myself wanting to hold his hand. Wanting to feel his fingers slide between mine and hold tight. To have him lead me, protect me, covet me. “Do you mind when I talk?”
“No,” he says without hesitation. “I sure as hell don’t mind that. You’ve got a voice like sunshine.”
My heart triples its speed. “See, now there’s a compliment,” I manage. “Your voice sounds like a boat motor, so I guess I have to find something else to compliment.” John’s hearty laugh stops me in my tracks, it’s so wonderful and rich and male. I want to hear it over and over again, maybe against my belly. I don’t know. “Your laugh sounds like Christmas morning,” I say, dorkily, my face heating. “Can we do a fifteen-second rewind?”
“Hell no we can’t.” John steps closer, his hands lifting and hesitating just above my hips. “Jesus, Lyssa. Couldn’t even make it two minutes without needing to break my vow not to touch you again until this thing with Mason gets resolved.”
“Resolved? Meaning…you think he’ll forgive us?”
“I don’t know.” Finally, his big hands grip my hips and we both groan at the forbidden contact. “But I can’t stay away from you.” He gathers my skirt in his hands, slipping his right hand beneath to knead my butt cheek. “Fuck. I’m so hungry for this.”
I want him to tear my clothes off and maul me, right here on the pathway, but I know I have to overcome the desire. Come on, Lyssa. You can make it three hours without hurting someone who means so much to you.
“We can’t,” I whisper, pushing John away, continuing on shaky legs down the path. John follows me, his breathing heavy. We should go back to the cabin and lock ourselves in separate rooms, but as crazy as it sounds, even in the midst of this physical torture, I can’t stop wanting to be around John. He puts my anxiety at rest and warms me from the inside out. It’s impossible to stay away, despite the danger of being alone.
We walk for another ten minutes before there’s a break in the trees and the most glorious meadow reveals itself. This city girl is so overwhelmed by the beauty of the bounding green field full of dandelions and sunshine that I squeal and do a little dance. “What?” I walk out into the magnificent sunlight. “How come there aren’t a million people here taking advantage of this?”
“They’re all down in New York freaking out over their coffee orders.”
“Ouch. That was uncalled for. And rudely accurate.” I turn to find John right behind me—and I poke him in the chest. “You think you have city people like me all figured out?”
His voice resonates when he responds, “My hatred of the city does not extend to you, Lyssa.”
“I know,” I say softly, butterflies tickling my ribs. “Still, we can be resilient, too. I have to carry my groceries up nine flights of stairs when the elevator isn’t working. Which, thanks to our lazy super, is always.”
John stiffens. “You shouldn’t be in the stairwell alone. Especially not after what happened to you.” He curses and moves past me. “Why doesn’t my son carry the groceries for you?”
“We take turns.”
His tense back tells me he’s not satisfied with my answer. “I don’t like you in that place.” His thick fingers flex and curl into fists. “There are too many ways for you to be harmed.”
“I’m fine.” I reach out, wanting to smooth the angry, shifting lines of muscle in his back, but force myself to drop my hand. “I…we’ll be fine.”
He shoots me a sharp glance over his shoulder, but I can’t interpret it. “Come on,” he says, turning away. “The pond is up ahead. We’ll take your pictures.”