Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 138904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
She eyed him critically. “You must be roasting in that jacket. Why don’t you leave it in the car?”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t you possess sweat glands?” she asked a little disgusted, because he did look fine. He wasn’t sweating, even though the temperature was edging toward thirty degrees.
He stared back at her impassively, eyes hidden, mouth set in a straight line, jaw all clenched and manly looking.
She rolled her eyes.
“Seriously, Ty, seeing you in that jacket is literally giving me sympathy sweats.”
His brow knotted and he shook his head in disgust, before taking hold of Vicki’s elbow to turn her back toward the car. He placed her between himself and the vehicle as he shrugged out of the jacket. Vicki bit back a moan as his beautiful fragrance—less subtle than usual because of the heat—enveloped her.
Ty fiddled with the jacket for a moment, then surprised her by handing her the boutonnière. He unlocked the car with a click of the fob, and yanked the back door open to carelessly toss the jacket inside. He took the boutonnière back and stared at it for a moment, clearly at a loss as to what to do with it now.
Vicki swept her eyes over the broad expanse of his white shirted chest. She took the sprig of flowers from him and tentatively reached out to smooth the fabric over his breast pocket.
Don’t linger, she warned herself, while doing exactly that, enjoying the heat and hardness beneath her palm a little too much. He still had her crowded against the car, and as the thud of his heart increased its pace beneath her fingertips, he took the smallest step toward her. She should feel crowded, but she didn’t, she felt…safe. And turned on, always so turned on by his proximity. Her breathing increased, along with his heartbeat, and her hand slid down his chest, finding the ridges of his abdomen. He grunted…or was that a groan? She couldn’t be sure. The sound was so animalistic it made her knees quiver.
“What are you doing?” The question was neither a grunt nor a groan. It was a growl, and it sent gooseflesh shivering down her spine.
“I-I…” What was she doing? Affixing the boutonnière to his shirt. That had been her intention. But her hand hadn’t received the message. Because it was lost in some no-woman’s-land between his torso and his groin. And it was drifting further and further south, toward the erection she had watched stir and grow in response to her audacious petting.
“Stop.” His voice was unequivocal, and his hand trapped hers against his flat stomach.
Snapping back to her senses, Vicki raised her eyes to his, appalled by the seductive thrall into which she’d fallen. On a public street, no less.
“Oh, my God! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
She was clearly a lost cause. Nothing the poor man said to the contrary seemed to deter her raging hormones. At this rate, it would be better if she just never left the house.
His eyes were heavy lidded and smoky…not as sharp and censorious as she’d been expecting.
“I know.”
She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat and hurriedly pinned the spray of flowers onto his breast pocket. The wilting white sprig looked out of place on that broad, masculine expanse, but he stepped away from her and looked at it with a pleased smile.
“Thank you,” he murmured, stroking the petals of the white rosebud reverentially.
Vicki’s eyes followed the movement of his hands. She was touched that her small gift was so obviously appreciated by him and tried to shove her earlier indiscretion out of her mind.
He inhaled deeply and held that breath for a moment. He appeared to be gathering himself, before releasing his breath, and offering her a curt nod. He turned his back on her but did not allow her the space to move just yet. Instead, he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, revealing those strong, muscular, veiny forearms. Vicki was a sucker for veiny arms.
He had a tattoo twisting up his left arm, a beautiful, broody storm done in grayscale, with multiple jagged lightning bolts streaking from the heavy clouds just below his elbow to the black, silhouetted tree line that wrapped around his wrist. The sheer artistry of the piece was breathtaking.
“Oh,” she heard herself gasp in helpless reaction. She sensed him staring at her downturned head, but she couldn’t stop studying the tattoo. So detailed, everywhere she looked there was something else to be seen. The roiling clouds continued up beneath the folded sleeve, and she longed to see the rest of it, wondering if the occasional glimpses she’d caught of the tattoo on his neck, was part of the same piece.
“It’s beautiful.” She only barely stopped herself from tracing one of the hyper-realistic streaks of lightning.