Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
We eat, making light gossip and laughing. I can’t help but sneak a peek at Rhodes, here and there, and find him looking at me every time. Finished with my food, my plate in hand, I squeeze through everyone to take it inside. The cool air caresses my arms as I shut the door behind me and lean back, inhaling deep, taking in the silence and cooling my overheated skin. Pushing off, I make my way to the sink to rinse my plate, focusing on the sauce that doesn’t want to come off.
The sound of the glass door opening and shutting has me sneaking a glance at who is coming in. It’s Rhodes. My breath quickens, being in here all alone with him. He’s tall, a black shirt and ripped jeans, his brown worn boots not normally seen around these parts. Fantasizing about what we could get up to in here, I look back down at the plate, trying to act casual. Why does he affect me so much? My body acts on its own accord when he’s near, the strong desire I have for him surpassing anything I felt for Heston when we first met.
He stands behind me with his plate, his arms crossed, and I feel as if I’m holding him up.
Turning the faucet off, I finally turn around and face him. He’s so close, I can smell his cologne and feel his body heat. Notes of orange laced with a wooded vanilla smell caress my senses. My cheeks warm and my throat thickens from arousal. My mouth parts and his eyes land on my lips, the way he’s looking at me heightening my awareness. This isn’t right, the way I feel around this guy especially when Heston and I are having problems. Looking down, breaking the connection, I clear my throat.
“Thank you for going along with—” I wave my hand toward the door. He steps beside me, putting his plate in the sink. “Why don’t you want him to know we met? Did he not want you to?”
My nostrils flare, and I rest my hand on the counter, my nails picking at the granite.
“Well…” he takes a deep breath, “he’s smart, trying to keep you all to himself.”
“I guess,” I mutter. He turns, facing me.
“Maybe it’s just me, but you look like you’re more afraid than in love with your boyfriend…or rather fiancé?”
My head snaps up, eyes wide. Embarrassment heating my ears, I fumble for a response, completely dumbstruck.
Reaching forward, he brushes his thumb along my cheek bone, the same side Heston hit me, and I jerk away.
“No, I just—” I have no idea what to say. Is he referring to me flinching or has seen or heard us fighting? Not wanting to say one thing and it be the other, I walk away. Large fingers wrap around my wrist, halting me. I spin toward him and freeze, his moss green eyes pinning me in place. With our chests inches from one another, we stare into each other’s eyes, my stomach fills with butterflies, like it used to do with Heston. The feeling is both exciting and arousing. “By the way—no cherry pie. Do apple.”
My brows furrow. “Why?”
“Because the apple is forbidden.” My breath hitches. Jerking my hand from his, I go back outside, sliding into my seat beside Heston. He reaches for my hand, tangling it in his, but I can’t feel it over the tingling Rhodes left behind. Leaning in, Heston whispers, “Everything okay?” His grip on my hand tightens, and it takes everything in me not to react to the pain.
“I’m fine,” I grit, looking straight ahead, acting as if Heston isn’t hurting me under the table.
Fighting through the pain, knowing bruises will form by tomorrow, I grab his fingers with my other hand and dig my nails into them. He shoves me away, the table rocking, and my breath hitches in my throat, scared everyone saw what just happened. Glancing around, the only one who staring is Rhodes. His brows furrow and his rocky mountain green eyes pin me where I sit. He definitely knows Heston and me are not okay.
As we walk back across the street, the sun is resting on the horizon. I’m over wanting to talk like a rational adult with Heston. After what he just pulled, I’m ready to fight the asshole. No more putting off this conversation. It has to happen now because I’m done; I can’t do this anymore. “Heston, I need to talk to you. Now!” I demand, shaking my sore hand as if the pain will just fall off from him hurting me.
Walking ahead of me, he doesn’t respond. He’s ignoring me, acting as if whatever I have to say is of no importance to him. As soon as we’re both in the house, I slam the door behind me.