Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
She set down the plate and his coffee, staring at his hands for a moment. He often had scraped and swollen knuckles. She knew what that likely meant, and it should have worried her. He was a huge guy, and if he regularly got into physical fights . . . but perhaps he was a boxer or something?
Whatever he did, for some reason she wasn’t as intimidated by him as she should have been.
As she turned to walk away, though, he reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist.
She paused with a small gasp.
“Sit. Eat with me.”
It wasn’t exactly a request, but she was working. She didn’t really have time to sit and eat because he’d ordered her to. But then he lifted his gaze to hers.
And there was something in his dark gaze, something that called to her. She recognized it all too well because she felt it herself.
Loneliness.
“All right,” she said. “Just give me a minute to check in with Anita.”
He nodded.
She turned and walked toward the counter. Anita finished serving someone and spun to her as she poured a coffee.
“Well?”
“I’m just going to have something to eat.”
“With him?” Anita’s eyes widened.
“Yes. You all right here?”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted Anita to say yes or not. Anita nodded, a bit too excitedly.
“Go, go. I’m good.”
Gracen eyed her for a moment. Anita was acting a little odd. Usually, she’d moan and groan if she thought she was having to do all the work. But she was overly enthusiastic.
Shaking it off, hoping that maybe her niece was starting to think about other people more, she dumped a heap of creamer into her coffee, then moved back to where he sat.
The buns were still sitting on the plate. His gaze was intent on her. Watching her every movement. Although she had the feeling that he was aware of everything else going on in the bakery at that moment too.
He looked like he could look after himself. And anyone that was under his care.
Would you like that?
She hadn’t had anyone take care of her in a long time. Her last boyfriend hadn’t been that protective or all that interested in anything she was doing—other than when it affected him.
They’d drifted apart. He’d told her that she had unrealistic expectations of him. She’d just wanted him to give a shit. To check in if she was late getting home and ask if she was all right. Or for him to be concerned if she was sick, rather than keeping away so he didn’t catch anything.
She paused, worry filling her. “Aren’t the sticky buns good? Would you like me to replace them? Do you want something else instead?”
He frowned, staring down at the buns, then up at her. She set down her coffee and reached for the plate. But that large, scarred hand landed on hers, stilling her.
“They’re perfect. Why?”
“Oh, sorry. You just weren’t eating, and I was worried . . . sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he told her in that low, rumbly voice. She swore she could feel her nerve endings dance into life.
Suddenly the thought of him ordering her around in the bedroom with that voice flitted through her mind.
Jesus, Gracen. Stop it, he’s a customer. The last thing he wants is to come in here and have you lusting all over him.
How embarrassing. She hoped that he hadn’t caught her watching him closely. Or heard the small sound of pleasure escape her lips when he touched her.
That would be mortifying
“Sit. Please.” The please was definitely an afterthought. It sounded rusty coming from his lips. Drawn to the command in his voice, she moved toward the chair opposite him. He stood and drew out the chair to the right of him. “Here.”
“Here?” she asked as she slid into the chair. She looked to him for reassurance.
His nod filled her with warmth. Shoot. She liked pleasing him. She wasn’t sure why it made a difference where she sat. Did he want her close to him? Or maybe he didn’t want her blocking his view of the room. That seemed more likely.
“Here.” He took one sticky bun and pushed the plate over to her. “Eat.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Those are for you.” And from the look of him, the two buns would be a mere snack, not an actual meal. It must take a lot of calories to fuel him.
“Bought one for you.”
“You . . . you didn’t have to do that.” She owned the place, after all.
“You don’t like them?” he asked.
“Oh no, I do. I don’t bake anything that I don’t like.” She laughed self-consciously. She was well aware that she was at least ten pounds overweight. Hmm, probably more. Between sampling the product and working long hours, she didn’t have the time or energy to worry about her health.
Besides, she kind of liked her curves. Sure, they weren’t what was trendy. But she didn’t think she had the type of body that wanted to be super thin.