Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Elaina,” he says, his voice as deep and delicious as I remember. “Good to see you. How have you been?”
“Fuck yourself in the face with a hot poker,” I say pleasantly, the first genuine laugh of the day bursting from my chest at his startled expression. “Oh, come on. You didn’t think I’d be glad to see you, did you? You’re a shit, Hunter. A complete shit. What kind of grown man leaves without saying goodbye?”
“I didn’t realize you cared about things like that,” he says, already recovered from his brief moment of surprise. Now, he’s back in bored billionaire mode again, looking utterly relaxed as he sits back in his chair, his bare feet stretched out into the sand. “If I remember correctly, you said you were looking for a good time, not a long time.”
“Bullshit,” I say. “You weren’t raised by wolves. You knew better than to slink out the backdoor while I was busy with the Sunday rush.”
“I had a plane to catch, and you warned me not to show my face downstairs.” His lips curve in a patronizing smile. “If I remember correctly, you were concerned the young men in town might see us together and get the wrong idea.”
I bristle. “It’s a small town. People talk, and I didn’t want to have to answer a bunch of questions about a guy who was leaving in a few days. And you could have left a note. That wouldn’t have required you showing your face anywhere.” I shrug and take another pull on my beer. “But whatever. Who cares? It was a moment. It’s over. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
He inclines his head. “Okay.”
I narrow my gaze, studying him in the glow of the fire. “Why are you in Sea Breeze, anyway? I thought your business here was over.”
“I came to see you, actually,” he says, chuckling at the no-doubt stunned expression on my face.
Pulling myself together, I prop a hand on my hip and intensify my glare. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” He stands with one smooth movement that reminds me how well he uses that athlete’s body of his. Hunter may spend his days dominating the finance world, but he clearly puts in his fair share of time at the gym. At forty-two, he’s in better shape than most men my age and knows exactly what to do with that big, hard body of his.
Don’t think about his body. Or how hard it is. Or how hard you want him to fuck you against the wall in your apartment while his sexy green eyes bore straight into your soul.
I lift my chin, praying my willpower holds as he ambles closer, until the soap and citrus smell of him teases at my nose, reminding me of how good my sheets smelled after he ravaged me in them. “Seriously. What are you doing here?”
“That night we grilled shrimp in your apartment,” he says, now looming over me, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact with his much-taller self. “Do you remember what we talked about?”
I frown as scenes of that night flit through my head. “We talked about a lot of things. And we had a lot of wine.”
“And two desserts,” he says, moving closer still, until his body heat warms my skin and my traitorous nipples tighten beneath the bodice of my bridesmaid’s dress.
But it’s getting cold on the beach as the sun finishes setting. That’s the only reason I’m having this reaction. It has nothing to do with the man looking at me like he’s imagining what I looked like wearing nothing but a smile as I rode him in a chair by my kitchen table.
We’d been so hot for each other after that second dessert, we couldn’t even make it to the bed…
“And before you took the espresso mousse from the refrigerator,” he continues, “you told me how much you wanted children. How you were dying to have a baby, actually, but hadn’t found the right situation yet.”
I frown harder. “Okay. And?”
“What if I could provide you with the right situation?” he says, making my brows shoot up my forehead.
“What?” I say with a sharp huff of laughter. “What does that even mean?”
“My mother is dying,” he says, sending a flash of pain through my chest. “It’s cancer. Inoperable. She doesn’t have much time.”
“I…” I swallow. “I’m sorry. My mom died a few months ago. Also cancer. It fucking sucks.”
“It does,” he agrees. “So does feeling helpless to comfort the only person who matters. There is literally nothing my money or influence can do for her, and long talks and time spent together only goes so far. There’s only one way I might truly be able to ease her passing.” He pauses, his already penetrating gaze boring into mine. “She’s been hoping to see me settled down and starting a family for a while now. Continuing our family line is important to her.”