Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
She paused for what felt like a long time. “Yes,” she finally said, as though that one word had required her to muster up something, and what, I had no way to fathom.
Part of me wanted to question her until she opened up, and another part of me knew that was a very bad idea. Still, I didn’t seem able to stop myself from wanting to know more. “Tell me more about it. Your home.”
Again, the pause.
“What’s to tell? We didn’t have things like plants in my apartment growing up. Like I said before, we didn’t even always have food. My mom . . . she struggled with addiction. She’d promise to stop . . . but it never stuck for long. Few of her promises ever did.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Haven,” I said, running my hand along her arm, wanting to comfort her from something that had long passed. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
But she shrugged. She felt different suddenly. Closed off. Stiff. And I was sorry my question had done that.
Again, I was conflicted. Part of me wanted the easygoing teasing back. But another part wanted to probe her—force her to share herself with me. Let her know I could handle it.
That desperate feeling rose up, the one that had always tried to control when I felt scared or needy.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine now. It’s fine.”
I smoothed a curl back that had fallen over her cheek, but it defied me, bouncing back to where it had just been, resistant.
“Once she went an entire year without using,” Haven said, almost breathless suddenly. “Men had always come and gone. A few of them were decent. The one she was with that year—Johnny—taught me to play checkers. He always had orange Tic Tacs. I can still taste them when I think of him. Anyway, I learned not to get too attached to any of them because it never ended well for me.” She stopped short, a small cringe passing over her expression, her mouth puckering as though she tasted that long-ago orange-flavored memory of someone who had been kind to her, perhaps made her feel she mattered, and then left anyway.
My throat felt tight. Stop pressing. She’s not staying. You won’t benefit from digging up her secrets. She gave her head a slight shake, turning toward me. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Can we rewind a little bit?” She smiled, though it was fleeting.
I hesitated, torn again, but knowing that for whatever her reasons were, she needed to turn away from the memory she’d just dredged up. “Rewind?” I leaned forward, kissing her once on her lips. “To which part? I can think of several moments I’d like to revisit since the moment you knocked on my door.”
She laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing, the crease on her forehead smoothing out. I smiled, raising my eyebrows suggestively, the mood lightening once again. And then I rolled on top of her, crushing her momentarily as she laughed and pretended to choke. I rolled off, grinning as I dragged my lips down her stomach, going lower, as her laugher melted into sighs and then turned to moans.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Travis
Clawdia’s purr rose and fell as I scratched under her chin, her body a warm, slight weight in my arms. I trailed behind Haven, my vision going hazy at the edges as she stretched up on her tiptoes to water the plants on the kitchen windowsill, the curve of her ass cheeks peeking out from the cotton shorts she wore.
She turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as my gaze shot to hers. I grinned, and she gave her head a small shake, a mock exasperated look pinching her features. She looked sexy and mussed, her hair a tangled riot around her face and trailing down her back. We’d woken with the sun as usual and, despite thoroughly enjoying our morning ritual, I wanted to take her back to bed and bury myself inside her. Stay there.
It’d been an amazing, pleasure-filled week. But a busy one too as one of my officers was out with a broken leg after he’d attempted some trick on a jet ski that had failed spectacularly and left the department short-handed. I’d had to work several double shifts, hardly able to focus on my job, so eager to return home to Haven, even if the hours we spent together were far too short.
“That cat is going to grieve intensely when you leave the inn.”
I looked down at Clawdia’s blissful face, scratching the top of her head as she leaned into me and I felt a small twang in my chest. Why, I wasn’t sure. Again, I didn’t even like cats. “Do you blame her?” I asked.
Haven gave a soft laugh but it faded quickly as she tipped the watering can and gave another plant a drink. I watched her profile for a minute. She seemed . . . troubled this morning. Or maybe just introspective. I’d detected the same mood off and on since the night she’d talked about her mother’s substance abuse. But each morning it’d seemed to fall away. Until this morning.