Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
“I appreciate that,” she says blandly. “But I didn’t want to borrow from you. Not any more than I already have, I mean.”
I dart her a look, unsure whether or not I’m being insulted.
I look her car over again.
It’s definitely at least ten years old and must have decent miles on it, considering her active lifestyle.
Another surprise.
“You’re certain you can comfortably spend over two grand on a kayak?”
“I can easily afford it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she huffs out. “And um, can you not look at Ladybug like that? She’s not falling apart...”
Goddamn.
I can’t get over the fact that she named her car Ladybug.
Although, with the bulbous wheel arches and the arched roof, it’s almost fitting.
“It’s not that I can’t afford a better car.” Destiny spears me with a narrowed gaze. “I’m riding Ladybug into the ground because I love him.”
Him?
Her car is a fucking him?
I catch myself the instant I notice hot jealousy spiking my veins.
Shit, I knew this entire trip was a big fat mistake.
Then I see the corner of her mouth twitching.
It’s a tiny, quick movement. Blink and you’d miss it.
In half a second, she has her face back under control, but it makes me wonder if maybe she’s doing this to mess with me.
This little blonde pixie with her hair tied back in a ponytail and her face makeup free. She looks more like the sporty girl I saw on Instagram today.
Not the prim, hyper-focused, no-nonsense girl who came to my office and lured me into the unthinkable behind her pristine mascara and flawless poses.
I don’t want to fucking like it.
Yet, against my better judgment, I feel a smile brewing that makes me bite my tongue.
Damn, she got me good with the whole stupid car thing.
“It’s a good kayak,” I say, unstrapping it and lifting it from the roof, careful not to scratch anything. “One of the downsides is, it’s not easy to handle by yourself. Particularly if you don’t have much experience.”
“Lucky I have you then, right?”
Lucky.
That’s one word for it.
I take one end of the kayak and let her lift the other as we haul it back down to the beach.
There are a few other early risers milling around now, people dog-walking or recovering from the poor decision to stay out drinking until the wee hours of the morning.
While I follow her I decide I should have taken the lead. I wanted to let her set the pace, in case she needed to put it down and rest, but it doesn’t seem like she needs to.
There’s an honest fitness level behind her trim looks.
Instead, she marches on ahead, giving me a direct view of the peach masquerading as her ass.
That damnable wet suit cups it too perfectly, turning this into a proper death march.
How had I even missed an ass that magnificent?
Now, I see everything.
The perky way her hair swings behind her like sun-kissed gold threads.
The long line of her legs and the small of her back, begging for a claiming hand.
Her innocent face, every time she turns.
So innocent it makes me throb to defile her.
Fuck me.
I need to get my head back in the game. Safely out of whatever lust pit it’s fallen into and gotten stuck in.
Yes, she’s hot.
She knows she’s hot.
Her entire image, her brand, her career, is made partly from her allure and the rest comes from her brain.
Like anything in life, it’s a commodity and an asset. I should be too smart to fall for it.
Key word being should.
“Do you know,” she says, barely winded when we rest her kayak beside mine, “I can’t believe I never thought of this before.”
I stand beside her.
It’s easier like this, staring out across the inlet to the islands and the long route north up ahead.
“Kayaking, you mean?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s a cool way to see wildlife up close here, without disturbing it with loud noises or pollution. The back roads can be rough on vehicles, too. I’ve lived my whole life in the Pacific Northwest and I’m shocked it never occurred to me before.”
“I’ve seen plenty of seals up close and personal. A few orca encounters, too, up in the San Juans,” I tell her. “If you can handle it, there’s no better way to get around these parts.”
“Is that a challenge?” She narrows her eyes.
“If it is, Miss Lancaster, you’re welcome to prove you’re up to snuff.”
We share a whimsical look—the usual charged defiance—but also something lighter.
Something I don’t want to think too hard about.
“Let’s get moving, then. There’s only so much daylight to make time and make you look like a clown,” she says.
I snort loudly. “You couldn’t do it last time you caught me with a kayak, so now you’re desperate.”
She razzes me before she jerks her head away, checking her boat over one last time.
This girl.
Confidence looks good on her, and I think I like this version of Destiny a lot.