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)
“Flapjack?” I frown. “Pancakes?”
“No, no. This is a British thing, I think. My stepmom introduced me to it a couple years ago when we were camping. Syrup and oats, all packed neatly in a bar.” She sees me make a face. “Don’t be a dick until you try it. I must’ve hiked more than five miles on a couple of these bars before I even noticed.”
“Sounds as exciting as low-sodium porridge.”
Shaking her head, she rifles around in her overstuffed bag and pulls out this abomination.
“Quit grumbling and try it. It’s high-calorie and slow-release, and it’s actually pretty good for an on-the-go bite.”
I stare at the ziplocked bag in horror. It sags with the sticky oat mixture, barely separated into pre-cut bars.
“This is flapjack? This baby food turned to stone?”
“It’s great for ages five and up. I’m pretty sure it’s even good for high and mighty businessmen with an emotional maturity not a day over two years old,” she says, wagging a finger. “Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Miss Lancaster. Someone needs to keep a cement-free stomach if the other person gets sick.”
Before I can blink, there’s a hard brick of sweet-smelling oats in my face. She holds it under my nose.
“Less talking. More chewing. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little fiber?”
Fucking hell.
If it’ll shut her up, I suppose one measly bite of this sugar-gruel won’t kill me.
I sink my teeth in like a wild dog and tear off a piece, chew mechanically, and swallow.
Huh.
Not terrible.
Thankfully, she has the good sense not to gloat, even when I grudgingly take the piece she snaps off and wrap it in foil for later.
“Now that we’re all fueled up...” She tucks the rest back into her bag and fastens it so it’s waterproof again before slotting it into her kayak just like I showed her.
I think it’s an act of defiance more than anything—proving she doesn’t need to be told twice.
She’s not afraid of a challenge, and she’s certainly not holding anything back.
Ignoring how much her weird attitude amuses me, I hold out her paddle.
She takes it, fingers brushing mine, and I ignore that too.
“This is your greatest tool when you’re out there on the water. Treat it like an extension of your own arms.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glower.
“See these rubber rings?” I nudge her hands into place so she’s gripping the right spots. Awareness jolts up my body when I sense her skin against mine.
Dummy, get a grip.
Don’t let the oats go to your head.
Destiny freezes.
I clear my throat, knowing this entire endeavor depends on us trusting each other.
“Sorry,” I whisper raggedly.
“No, it’s fine.” Her voice is taut with concentration and she doesn’t look at me. “Is this right, bossman?”
“Yes, but don’t grip it so hard. Loosen your fingers a little.” I demonstrate on my paddle, showing her what I mean and leading her through the motions with the right grip.
She mirrors me almost flawlessly, though her movements are still a little stiff.
“The paddle is part of you,” I say.
“Um, maybe not yet.” Her eyes narrow as she assesses what she’s doing, then glances up at me. “Why don’t I look like you?”
“Practice. You’ll find the right movements after a few hours on the water. For now, let’s try something else.” I leave my paddle where it is and stride around her until her back is almost touching my chest.
Then I lean around her, my hands beside hers.
Of fucking course, our thumbs brush.
Just the lightest touch, and it’s still too much.
Ignore. Ignore.
Destiny inhales sharply, and I guess she’s uncomfortable because she takes an involuntary step forward.
Well, why not?
She does have a massive fucking idiot here who keeps invading her personal space.
We don’t have that kind of relationship.
Even if I thought we should, I’ll never go there.
Especially because that one second slip was enough for me to notice the coconut smell of her hair, fresh and inviting and lethal. One more temptation calling me to my doom.
One more feature I shouldn’t notice, let alone dwell on with the same damnable stickiness as her oat brick in my stomach.
“I’m lacking sleep,” I rush out. “I didn’t mean to—”
I stop.
To what? To touch her?
For fuck’s sake, where is my mind?
“For making you uncomfortable,” I finally finish.
“Huh? No, it’s nothing like that.” She stares at where my hands were just seconds ago. “I’m pretty sure I got over cooties with guys in gym back when I was in ninth grade. Just show me what you need to.”
Bad, bad idea.
Still, I move onward, positioning myself behind her, forcing my brain to think of nothing but kayaking and sea otters.
There’s no woman here.
No Destiny with her fruit-scented hair and sunny smiles and handfuls of curves that want to take my soul.
This universe is otter-centric.
Nothing else matters.
Otters, man.
“You need to move from your core,” I strangle out, moving the paddle like my life depends on it.