Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The hot water rains over us as our orgasms crash down around us at the same time. As soon as our bodies have calmed, I lower her back to the shower floor, and we wash up again.
I lather the soap over her body once more, getting turned on all over again. “If I keep washing you I’ll never get out of this shower.”
She laughs lightly, tugging her hands into my hair. “I don’t mind.”
I lean down, kissing her completely. There’s something about this woman that has me thinking of things like forever.
Chapter 24
Aubree
It’s been a little over a week since Boone and I arrived at this new safe house—another remote cabin, this one tucked near a secluded lake, ringed with tall pines that create a fortress of green. Somehow, despite the circumstances, we’ve managed to fall into a daily routine that almost feels normal, if I squint my eyes and forget we’re essentially in hiding.
The days start early. Sometimes Boone is up before the first hint of sunrise, doing perimeter checks or pacing around with that gun of his strapped to his hip. When I wake up—usually around six—he’s already brewed coffee, the rich scent drifting through the cabin like a silent good morning. We don’t say much first thing, preferring the quiet warmth of each other’s presence, sipping coffee in companionable silence.
We run together, and then we break for our respective chores. He busies himself with endless security measures—testing the locks on the doors, checking in with Dean for updates—and I find solace in the kitchen.
Temporary. The word sticks in my brain sometimes, reminding me that this—the easy laughter, the morning coffees, the teasing about who does the dishes—is all borrowed time. I keep catching myself wishing it wasn’t so, that maybe somehow we can stretch this out after the danger is gone. But then reality sets in: this is only happening because someone is threatening my life, and Boone’s assigned to protect me. Would any of this still exist when the threat is gone?
I hate that I’m falling for him, but I can’t stop it. Every time he smiles in that slow, careful way—like he’s not used to smiling often—or when his hand brushes mine, I feel my heart skip a beat. And the nights we’ve spent curled up on the couch or tangled in each other’s arms have only fueled the fire. Sometimes I catch him watching me like he can’t decide whether to keep his distance or close it entirely. It’s that push-pull that keeps me on edge… and wanting more.
Today, though, we’re back to a more subdued vibe. The day started with a run around the perimeter, Boone’s suggestion for maintaining our stamina—and probably his way of keeping me from going stir-crazy. It’s mid-afternoon now, and I’m in the kitchen testing out a new pizza recipe I’ve been mulling over. Even without my trusty pizza ovens, I can make do with the cabin’s oven and a few modifications. That’s what I keep telling myself, at least.
I’ve got flour dusting my jeans and hands as I knead the dough on the wooden countertop. I hum softly under my breath, trying to drown out the fact that Boone’s on the phone in the other room—likely talking to Dean. Every so often, I hear muffled snippets of his low voice—my name, Charles, mother, or other phrases that send a jolt of worry through me. But I focus on the dough, pressing and folding, adding a bit more water or flour as needed.
My mind drifts to the future. If this all ends well, maybe Boone and I can… what? I try to imagine him in my normal life—me, back at Slice Slice Baby, tossing dough and taking orders while he stands by the register with that vigilant expression, scanning for danger. The thought makes me smile, but also breaks my heart a bit, because deep down I know it might be too much to hope for. There’s a chance he’ll move on to the next assignment, and I’ll be left with only memories of that protective, infuriating, wonderful man who kissed me under the stars.
The dough takes shape into a neat, soft ball, and I set it aside to rest. I’ve already prepped the sauce—my special blend of tomatoes, garlic, a touch of basil—and it simmers on the stove, filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering scent. I hum again, dipping a spoon into the sauce for a taste. It’s tangy with a hint of sweetness, just how I like it.
Boone’s voice rises a little in the living area. I catch the words “no, not yet,” and “we’ll see,” which makes my stomach clench. He’s definitely being vague, which probably means they haven’t made any new breakthroughs. Or maybe they have, and it’s not the kind of news he wants to break to me.