Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Oh shit. He had that whole beach-casual vibe going on, and he made it look good. Really damn good. His hair had that messy, ran-my-fingers-through-it style, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt over a pair of dark blue cargo shorts.
But it was his smile that seemed to stutter my heart.
“Wow. Morgan, you look incredible.”
Maybe it was the deep timbre of his voice or the way his gaze warmed my skin as he glanced over me in the same way I’d just done to him, but suddenly this felt very much like a date.
“Thank you,” I managed to reply. “You look great, too.” That was absolutely an understatement. The man looked edible.
“Thanks.” His smile widened. “You ready?”
“You betcha.” You betcha? Oh God, did I really just say that? Where the hell was the charm I’d been known for? The quick, flirting smile?
He didn’t seem to notice that I’d answered him like an eighty-five-year-old grandfather, and a couple of minutes later, we were strapped into his Land Cruiser, heading south.
“So what exactly are you planning to show me in the dark?” I asked, then mentally cursed myself again. “You know, where we can’t see anything?” Stop, you’re making it so much worse.
He tossed a grin my way, then peered up through the windshield. “It’s a clear night and a full moon. It’s a good night for climbing, wouldn’t you say, Kitty?”
I scoffed. “I’m not exactly dressed for mountaineering, Jackson.”
He slowed, pulling into the park. “Good, because we don’t exactly have any mountains around here.”
A turn later and my jaw dropped.
“But we do have lighthouses,” he said as he parked the car.
I stepped out into the parking lot, looking up, and up, and up at the black and white paint twisting its way up the enormous tower. This thing was colossal.
“It’s the tallest brick lighthouse in the United States,” Jackson noted as he shut his door, then came around to my side and shut mine since I’d been too busy gaping.
“And we’re going to climb it?” I swore to God, if that man busted out a climbing harness and rope, I was going to—
“We’re going to climb the stairs inside it.”
“And they let you do that at nine o’clock on a Saturday night?”
He laughed, sending a wave of flutters through my stomach. “Starting next month, they’ll do full-moon tours, but tonight, it’s just you and me. Come on.” He motioned toward the sidewalk that led to the lighthouse, and we walked down the moonlit path.
“Hey, Jax.” A tall, heavy man with a thick black beard and wearing a uniform stepped out of the doorway as we approached.
“John. Thanks for letting us in,” Jackson said as he shook the man’s hand.
“No problem. I owe you a hell of a lot more than a little late-night access. You going to introduce me to your girl?” He turned a kind smile on me.
“Oh, I’m not his girl.”
“She’s not my girl.”
We spoke at the same time, then let the awkwardness speak for itself.
“Right.” He glanced between us. “Okay, well, the stairwell lights are on, but the deck lights are off, so you two be careful.”
We assured him we would be and then walked into the lighthouse. I took in the spiral staircase and shook my head. “What exactly does John owe you for, anyway?”
Jackson’s jaw flexed before he answered. “I got his brother out of a tight spot once. Nothing big.”
The way he looked away told me otherwise.
“You have a thing for saving people, don’t you?” Like me.
“You have no idea,” he answered quietly, staring up the center of the staircase.
“Okay, tour guide,” I said as my foot hit the first metal step. “Time to start guiding.”
“I promise it’s worth it,” he swore as we started to climb. “It’s thirty-one steps between each landing for a total of two hundred fifty-seven steps,” he recited, beginning my evening history lesson.
I fell into the rhythm of my feet and the cadence of his voice as he told me all about why it had been constructed in the eighteen hundreds.
“The Graveyard of the Atlantic?” I questioned. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” My breathing grew labored, and I noted with more than a little awe and annoyance that his didn’t. No sir, he was still breathing deep and even. How in the blazing hell? Did he spend an hour on the StairMaster every day?
“I’ll show you,” he promised. “This is the last stretch of stairs before the top.”
“You mean this eventually ends?” I teased with mock wonder.
He shook his head, but there was laughter in those blue eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep climbing, Kitty.”
“Don’t you ever do anything for fun that doesn’t burn a thousand calories?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come walk the beach, Morgan.” My voice lowered in an awful Jackson impression. “Come surfing, Morgan. Look, there’s yoga to learn, Morgan.”