Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I went inside the pool house and took off my swimsuit, the sounds of muted voices walking past the open French doors that led to the patio barely drifting to where I stood. I reached for a towel and wrapped it around my waist when I heard a laugh ring out and then fade away. My head snapped up and I dropped the towel as I whipped toward the familiar sound.
That was…
But no.
It couldn’t be.
There was no way.
You’re hearing things, Buchanan. That’s how much that damn woman got under your skin.
And yet, even so, I’d hastily picked up the towel and wrapped it around my waist again, my feet moving toward the place where that bubbly laughter had come from before I’d even made a conscious decision to do so. I moved across the patio and entered the house, standing in the hall and listening. There it was again, that laughter. And that fragrance. I recognized it—it lingered in the air. My gut clenched and I rounded the corner, the chatter growing louder, and then stepped into the doorway of the sunlit conservatory.
Singular blue orbs behind a pair of eyeglasses met my shocked gaze. My heart leaped and my mouth dropped open as she began blinking rapidly. I stared, almost not able to believe my own eyes. Her hair was swept up in some sort of sleek updo and she was wearing a navy-blue pencil skirt, one slim leg crossed demurely over the other, and an off-white, silky blouse buttoned up to the base of her throat, a creamy string of pearls circling the collar. If I hadn’t seen the flare of recognition in her lens-covered gaze, I would have thought this woman was the conservative twin of the spunky, blue-jean clad bar wench I’d met.
The one I’d had mind-blowing sex with on a pool table.
The one I’d been dreaming about almost every night since.
The one I’d been trying—mostly unsuccessfully—to get out of my head for a week and two days now.
My instinct was to rush toward her, but the way she was looking at me—with barely-suppressed panic—held my feet to the portion of floor I was currently standing on.
My bare feet.
I glanced down.
In my haste at following that laugh, I’d forgotten I was only wearing a towel.
“Oh, Gage, darling,” my mother said, turning in her chair, obviously following the gazes over her shoulder of the other two women across from her. She brought her hand to her chest, her eyes widening as she took me in. “My goodness, you’re not dressed.” She quickly composed herself. “Well. I’m, er, glad you decided to stop by. You remember Faith Lorenz, don’t you? And this is Aurora Castle. She’s the art appraiser I mentioned who works for Faith’s gallery. She’s going to take a look at a few pieces I found in storage.” She gestured toward the three or four paintings leaning against a side table near the door. “Aurora, this is my son, Gage. He was just swimming which is the reason for the, um, lack of clothing.”
An art appraiser? I almost choked out a laugh but caught myself as she suddenly stood, walking the short distance from where she’d been sitting and holding out her hand to me.
“Gage Buchanan?” Her eyes flared again, and I saw her throat move as she swallowed.
“That’s right,” I said, watching her closely. She appeared to have paled a few shades. She knew she was caught red-handed. Good.
“Mr. Buchanan. So nice to meet you,” she said after a stilted moment where I watched her gather herself. The words came out in a rush and I narrowed my eyes at her as she pushed the glasses up her pert nose and I took her hand, enveloping it in mine. It was ice-cold.
“Aurora, was it?” I asked, giving her a wry tip of my lips. “Castle, you said? A regal choice for an alias. What brings you to town, Ms. Castle?”
“Gage!” My mother let out a short, embarrassed-sounding laugh. “What’s gotten into you?”
I ignored my mother and Rory cleared her throat as she attempted to pull her hand away, but I gripped it more tightly. What in the hell was she playing at here? Was she some kind of scam artist? Had she weaseled her way into a job that would provide her access to the attics of wealthy estate owners? And how and why had her grift brought her here? “No alias. And please, call me Aurora.” She gave her hand a yank and I let it go, causing her to have to take a step back to keep herself from tumbling over.
I raised a brow as she shot a slightly panicked look over at Faith who was staring in confusion. “Hi, Faith,” I said. “Nice to see you.”
“Gage,” Faith greeted, the small frown tipping into a smile. Her gaze moved down my half-naked body. “You look…very well.”