Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Why?”
His question pulled her attention from his arm. What was that, his triceps? Either way it was hot and muscular, plus tattooed. This one was a tribal design. A lot of guys, and women, had them. However, in her opinion, none looked as good as the one on Linc. It hugged his muscles, weaving around his arm like a lover. She clenched her hand, like she could actually reach up and touch the design.
“Emma.”
“Huh?”
He captured her chin and forced eye contact. “While I love you ogling me, we’re in front of children. Focus. Why did you kiss me?”
She pushed two more pins in his hand. “I told you, as a thank you.”
“Actually,” he corrected, “you didn’t. You kissed me then said thank you. Not that you kissed me as a thank you.”
She blinked while he put in the next two pins and held out his hand. Emma dropped a pin on his palm and bent to get the next image.
“Fine. I did it as a thank you.” Very deliberately she unrolled the next image and stared at it. The one of Catamount Lake.
His face took the place of the canvas and she swallowed hard as his gaze bore into her.
How did he get such great curved lashes? It wasn’t freaking fair. Women paid good money to have fake ones put on and here he was throwing around his incredibly thick, long lashes like he deserved them.
“Okay, Ms. Stubborn. Why were you thanking me?”
“Why? Want to make sure you don’t do it again to avoid more bad kisses?”
“Or perhaps so I can do it more to get more kisses which were not bad.”
She huffed. “You didn’t even try to kiss me back.”
His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “So, you’re mad at me now because I didn’t kiss you back in that surprise kiss that didn’t last more than a second? I just want to make sure I have it all right. You did it as a thank you, but you’re mad at me because I didn’t respond.”
Well, when he puts it like that.
She pushed the painting toward him. “Enough questions for one picture. The next one should go by the door to the art room.”
His lips twitched. “Yes ma’am.”
Chapter Six
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Linc sighed as he paused before the door to his house. He could smell her. Always he could smell her, that damn evocative scent she wore—designed to drive him insane.
“I can go home if you think my being here will make it worse.”
“That’s not it at all, Emma.” Linc turned to face her. “Please don’t think that. I’m just… I’m protective of my personal space.”
“I understand. I’ll keep the snooping to the second night I’m here.” She offered up a tiny, shy smile.
He appreciated her trying to cheer him up and get his thoughts off the train they were on. With a smile, he brushed a kiss over her hand.
“There isn’t a room you can’t go in. My fiancée has complete access.”
“Not a real fiancée. Just a fake one.” She blinked and he pushed a section of her hair back from her blue eyes so he could see them without any obstruction. “I’ll take my cues from you, and again I’m going to apologize for anything I do wrong.”
“You’ll be fine.”
It was himself he was concerned about. He should have insisted on meeting in a public place. The last thing he wanted was Mrs. Stevenson snooping in his home.
The door opened and he found his father, his sharp gaze moving between him and Emma.
She smiled and held out her hand. “Lovely to see you again, Mr. Conner.”
Linc’s father snorted and pulled her in for a hug. “You’ll call me Pops and we hug.” With a glare for him over Emma’s shoulder, his father brought her inside, still keeping her close to his side. “I’ll give you a quick tour while he goes and showers before changing into something appropriate to wear. I’ll give you all the details about how he used to pee in the bathtub, calling it a homemade water fountain.”
“Pops!”
Emma burst into laughter. His father waved him away and Linc listened, glad Emma seemed more relaxed, even if it was at his expense.
I have to tell that man not to share all those stories.
Fifteen minutes before the Stevensons were due to arrive, he strolled from his bedroom out to the main part of the house. Emma and his father were in the kitchen, heads together as they stood over the stove.
“That’s the secret?” Emma said, her voice full of wonder. “I’ve never been able to get them to do that.”
“Practice, my dear. I had to learn to make more than boxed macaroni and toast to keep my growing boy healthy.”
“You did that well enough. He certainly grew.”
Linc smiled and leaned against the wall, listening to them.