Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I squeal and giggle, trying to skate away from him, but his grip in my hair only tightens.
“Maybe so,” I retort. “But you shouldn’t be embarrassed, lots of men dance while making breakfast half naked.”
That earns me another sharp smack, and I yelp out loud. Still. Hot.
He shakes his head, then turns me around and half-drags me into the kitchen.
“I’m fucking starving,” he mutters. “This will have to wait until later.”
“What’s this?”
He only gives me a warning look that makes my heartbeat quicken.
Pulling out a chair at the main table, he gestures for me to take a seat. I do, and my stomach aches with hunger at the smell of fried eggs.
“You cook?” I ask, a little surprised. My brother doesn’t cook, since we’ve got staff that does that.
“Aye,” he says. “We don’t have to, got a cook up at the main house. But Mum made sure all her children had the skills they needed. So aye, I can cook.”
“A smart plan,” I say, nodding my head as he pushes a small plate with golden wedges of fried, buttered toast to me.
He sits across from me in his pair of boxers.
“Got any jam?” I ask, pushing up from the table.
“Might be some marmalade in there,” he says around a mouthful of food. I walk over to his fridge and open it. He’s got a few protein shakes, some apples, a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs. No marmalade.
I walk back to the table. “Now that’s a bachelor fridge if ever I saw one,” I say with a laugh.
I don’t bother to hide the fact that I'm ogling him. Since he hasn't put on any more clothes yet, he’s still sitting at the table in all his manly glory, muscles and everything, in the little pair of boxer briefs that do nothing to hide his very impressive manhood.
He grins. “Sorry ‘bout that. Honestly, I don’t eat here very often.”
“Gathered that.”
He sobers a bit while he swallows his toast. “They’ll ask questions at the main house. You know I’m Cowen Clan, and at least some of them will figure out right quick who you are as well.”
I nod soberly. “Will that cause a problem?”
He shakes his head. “I won’t let it, no.” He didn’t say it wouldn’t.
I don’t reply at first. Not really sure how to.
“Just don’t want to make anything awkward for you,” he says. “But I won’t hide you, either. So maybe later we can head up, I’ll introduce you. Have you heard from your dad or mum?”
I shake my head, and his sober expression darkens.
“Have you told them where you are?”
I haven’t thought yet about how to broach the subject with him. “No, I just told them I was with friends.”
“Fair enough,” he says, but his voice lowers as he continues. “But I’ve heard lots of… stories, you might say, about your father. And I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for you.”
Oh, God, why does he have to be like this? It’s so much easier to do what I have to knowing he isn’t so kind and protective. Why are they our rivals again?
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him with a forced smile. “I’ll be fine.”
But the jovial look isn’t returned. We eat in silence for a few minutes. Truth be told, he makes a mean egg, and I’m starving.
“I do have a bit of a problem, though, Mac.”
“Aye?”
“Well, I’ve got to work in the shop today. I really do, it isn’t something I can get away with, unfortunately,” I sigh. “I’m under a major deadline, and I won’t make it if I don’t get back to work.”
“Is it safe for you to go back?” he asks seriously. His blue eyes look like storm clouds when they’re all stern like that.
Thump goes my heart.
“I… don’t know,” I tell him truthfully.
He nods. “Right, then. I’ll have one of my men go into your store and pick up what you need and bring it back here, or I can go.”
I shake my head. It’s too dangerous for him to go where my father’s men might see him. “I can’t have you do that,” I tell him, shaking my head.
He fixes me with a stern look. “Didn’t ask your permission, darlin’.”
My heart thumps a little faster. I look down at my plate, surprised I’ve cleared it.
“You need more, Bryn?”
“No, I’m good thanks.”
He pushes to his feet. “Going to get a workout in before I shower.”
“Oh? What do you do?”
“Run. Chop wood. Pump iron.” He’s absolutely sober telling me this, and the mental image of watching him do literally any of those things makes heat rise in my chest. Oh, God, I’ve got it bad for this bloke. Really fucking bad. No one can affect me like he can.
“So what are you doing this morning, then? Taking a… run down the mountain? Chopping wood? Doing some… bench presses or something?”