Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep and wanted to check on you.”
He quirks a brow. “On me? Because you couldn’t sleep?”
“I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you.” Oh! Oh, shit. That’s the wrong thing to blurt out. I must either be more tired or more sexually charged than I thought. Wound up. That’s the word. I feel like my nipples are little wind up dials, and right now, they’re maxed right out. One more spin and any more tension, and something is going to bust or start smoking.
My clit feels the same.
A smoking vagina. That should not be funny.
“About what you said last night,” I hurry to add. “About being soiled on the inside.” That’s a shit recovery. I watch the shadows move over Rick’s face. I watch him shut down. He closed off this subject last night, and the last thing he wants to do is go there right now.
But I also see the other shadows. The ones that move into his eyes. The ones that haven’t ever really left them. I recognize them now. I see the truth plainly on his face. More than what Jace wanted draws me to him, and I can’t resist whatever tugs me across the room. I walk until I’m standing right in front of him, our knees almost brushing. He leans as far back in his desk chair as he can get, but I lean too. I lean in, getting too close. I need to back off and back away, but I can’t. I can’t just go and get a drink of water. Not now. Not when he’s fire, and I think playing with it might actually be good for us both.
If he shoves me away, I’ll go. If he tells me to take a step back, I will. And if he tells me not to touch him, I won’t. He groans, the sound doing feral things to my blood, my nipples, and the rest of my south-of-the-border zones. That sound breaks what little reservations I have left. My hands need to find a landing, a safe spot, and what could be safer than this man and his strong shoulders?
He jerks back, scooting the chair rapidly in the other direction before I can touch him. “No.” He lets out another groan. “You can’t. We can’t do this, Aspen. I’m dirty.”
“Patrick McDonald, you are not dirty,” I say firmly.
“I am. I am, and you’re Jace’s little sister. You’re my best friend’s little sister, and you’re always going to be his little sister, just like you’re always going to be sweet and pure and underserving of this burden that’s been placed on you and the cards that life dealt you.”
“I’m my own person. I have an identity other than Jace’s kid sister. I’m also more than old enough to know what I want, and as for the dirty talk, I never want to hear you say that about yourself again unless you’re truly dirty talking.”
I think it’s prettyyyyy obvious what I want.
Rick knows. He knew it from the second I appeared in the doorway. I probably looked like a sexed-up wreck. He’s older, so he could very likely see it written all over my face—how much I want him.
“You can’t ask me that,” he mutters weakly. Both his hands rake through his hair. He’s clearly so worn out. I don’t know why he keeps fighting this. “You can’t—”
“Come here.” I wrap my hand around his upper arm and pull. I know defeat when I see it, and I know he’ll probably shake me off and give me a stern set of objections if he weren’t too tired to fight me anymore.
He gets out of the chair. My fingers are on fire, and they tingle all the way downstairs, out the back door, out onto the deck, and then into the wreck of a backyard. Actually, there was another crew here this morning. I forgot about them. There were four crews, not three. They came in the morning and worked until evening, clearing it out. All the dead stuff is now gone. Trees have been uprooted, and vines have been cleared away. Anything still living, Rick wanted them to transplant into pots, take somewhere else, and give them away to people who want them and will care for them. I’m not sure there was much left alive other than what trees could be uprooted and dug out, but others just had to be cut down. It’s a shame. It hurts to see the backyard like this.
There’s dirt back here. So much dirt. The whole backyard is upturned, uprooted, messy dirt.
I point to it. “That is dirt, Patrick McDonald. That. Not you.”
He shakes his head. I have to drop his arm, and I feel the instant loss of our connection as soon as I do. I walk a few steps, bend, and pick up a handful. I let it sift through my fingers. It’s still warm from being baked out in the sun all day. San Jose is ridiculously hot. It’s hot enough right now that my T-shirt and shorts feel like too much clothing.