Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
I get back to work, turning around and bending over to unpack this morning’s delivery.
The brass bell on the green glass-paned shop door clangs, and I call out, head down, ass still up in the air.
“False alarm, huh?” I ask, figuring it’s Iris that had a want-to-be customer who decided against it.
“Did you want some of this?” I add, still bunched over, sorting through the elongated box, noticing I have way too many of her favorites… again.
Oops.
But when I stand and turn, I nearly scream with shock.
The embarrassment of being seen bent over is one thing. When it registers who’s standing in front of my counter, I see spots in front of my eyes and feel woozy for a moment. I think I am going to faint.
I’m brought back to earth by the firm, deep, resonant voice of my first customer of the day.
“I’ll take some of that…,” he says firmly, answering my original question. I flush crimson when his eyes leave mine as he studies my chest and hips under my denim apron.
“I thought you were…,” I start, but the words get stuck in my throat.
He curls his lip into a grin, shamelessly looking me over like I’m something he’s about to buy—like a rancher about to run his huge hand up the inside leg of a cow to see for himself just how much it’s worth.
I should be flipping him the bird, reminding him of his manners, but the way he’s looking at me isn’t creepy. He’s not grinning because he thinks it’s funny to see a thick-set, younger girl bent over in front of him. No.
He looks like a man who knows what he wants. And despite the cursory glance at the purple Iris flowers I’m holding in my hand, my older friend’s namesake, I can see at once that he’s not here for just flowers.
“I… I thought you were someone else,” I smile sheepishly, finishing my original statement.
Feeling another part of me flush so intensely, I almost wonder if I’ve wet myself.
A man like this? He could bring a girl into estrus at twenty paces without even knowing it.
He’s twice my height and practically fills the entire store. Not a guy I’d want to make angry, but his deep eyes aren’t flashing with anger.
There’s a lot of green in the store, but there’s a glow in his clear eyes, and I can’t quite make out if they’re green, brown, or dark blue.
Looking into his eyes is hypnotizing, just like the rest of him.
I watch the figure of Iris out of the corner of my eye, making her way back over. The cloudy gray of her old eyes lifts as she sees him in the bank of mirrors behind the counter—mirrors her husband Phil installed when I started out, making it look like I have more flowers than there actually are.
Iris’ brow lifts, and she makes a tiny “O” shape with her mouth, spinning on her heel and doing what any good friend would do. She leaves me to my once-in-a-lifetime chance encounter with a God come to earth.
A real man.
She shoots me her trademark wink before she’s gone again. I know she’d be as dumbfounded as I am right now.
We’ve been playing the “someday my man will come along” routine for ages now, but I never thought one existed. Imagine a man like him even coming into the store.
“Can… can I help you?” I rasp, seeing my hands tremble as I set the flowers down, wiping them on my apron. It’s all I can do to remember how to be a florist.
He hums a low growl. It feels like there’s an earthquake or a heavy roll of thunder coming from somewhere, thumping like a heavy hand on a door inside me.
Wanting to come in.
Needing to come in out of the rain.
I tell myself it’s my imagination that a successful-looking, older man like him would ever look twice at a younger, curvy girl like me, but some things aren’t imaginary.
The biological effect of this man on me being one of them.
“Jasmine,” he says in a low tone before growling another low hum of satisfaction.
“Uhhh… we don’t have any jasmine,” I reply instantly and apologetically.
He leans over a little at first, then all the way down, craning his thick, muscular neck until he holds his head an inch from my already stiff left breast as he examines my name badge.
“I think I see some… right here,” he says in that tone again—that smokey, deep, and powerful voice with a firm edge to it.
He’s used to giving orders, not taking them. I can see that.
And if he wants this sprig of Jasmine? Then I’m all his.
Instantly agreeing with myself that I’ll do whatever he wants.
I’ll help him with whatever he wants.
Buying flowers, I mean.
CHAPTER TWO
James
She wouldn’t have seen me. At least, I don’t think she saw me.