Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Stuck with you, huh?”
He smirks, the expression sending a jolt of heat through me. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the diner. Lodge is booked full a year in advance no matter what season.”
Before I can answer Buttercup lets out a long, drawn out meow.
“What the hell was that?” he growls.
“Oh–meet Buttercup,” I smile sweetly, setting my pet carry-on on the floor and unzipping the door.
“Excuse me?” Fox grits, laser eyes on my fluffy princess. “Jet is not going to like this.”
“Jet?” I ask.
“My husky. He spends the day outside but comes in every night.”
“Oh.” My eyes dart around the small loft. “Buttercup isn’t used to dogs.”
“And Jet isn’t used to…pussies.” His eyes flick from my cat and up my form to land on my eyes.
“Oh–well, I guess I could keep her locked in the bathroom when he’s in the house–”
“No, no, it’s fine. He’s a good boy. I’m sure they’ll get along. They’ll just need some time to adjust.”
“Well, guess that makes two of us.” I hum, butterflies flittering around in my gut under Fox’s hard stare.
My rugged new roommate takes the next few minutes to give me a tour. Fox’s loft is as inhospitable as he is, and his “rules” are ridiculous.
“Don’t touch my tools,” he says, pointing to the workbench. “Don’t move my stuff. And for the love of God, don’t rearrange anything.”
“Don’t worry,” I shoot back. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining your meticulously curated décor.”
He raises an eyebrow, but a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Good. Here’s a flannel you can wear until we get your suitcase back.”
“Thanks,” I catch the navy and yellow flannel he tosses at me, a rush of his heady, masculine scent washing over me. I can’t help but bring the fabric to my nose and inhale softly. The next few days are going to be interesting and I’m already anxious to share every weird moment of it with my followers.
An hour later, Fox is settled at the kitchen table–his makeshift workbench surrounded with tools and car parts–and I curl up on the couch with my laptop and Buttercup, trying to draft a blog post about the town. But my thoughts keep drifting to Fox. His blunt honesty and gruff demeanor are infuriating, but there’s something about him that intrigues me.
When I glance over at him, he’s hunched over, broad shoulders flexing under his shirt, his hands deftly repairing something I can’t identify. The soft glow of the lamp highlights the strong lines of his face, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
“Take a picture,” he says without looking up. “It’ll last longer.”
Flustered, I snap my gaze back to my laptop. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late,” he mutters, and I hear the smirk in his voice.
“Do you always keep it so cold in here?” I venture to ask.
“Are you always so whiny, City Girl?” he finally turns, one eyebrow arched.
I shoot him a glare, curling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “It’s gonna be hard to type with gloves on…”
“You’ll adapt, I have faith in you.”
I grunt at the unbearable man sitting across the impossibly small room from me. He may be the sexiest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, but he’s also the most infuriating.
The tension between us is unbearable. Every interaction is charged, every glance a spark waiting to ignite. He teases me relentlessly about my blogging career, calling me “Princess” and “City Girl” with a sardonic grin every chance he gets. I fire back with quips about his caveman tendencies, earning a few low chuckles that make my stomach flutter.
But it’s not just the banter. It’s the way he moves, the way his voice dips when he speaks to me, the way his eyes linger a little too long. It’s the way he says my name, like a challenge and a promise all at once.
“So what are you really doing here, Amelia?” he aks, his voice low.
I meet his eyes, my heart pounding. “I told you earlier. Research for my blog.”
“Research,” he repeats, his tone skeptical. “Or running from something?”
The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t answer. “W-what makes you say that?”
“Everyone up here is.” He leans closer, his presence overwhelming. “Whatever it is,” he says, his voice a rough whisper, “you won’t find it here. But you might find something better.”
I swallow hard, the intensity in his gaze stealing my breath. This man, this gruff, infuriating man, is going to be the end of me.
And I think I might like it.
Chapter Two
Fox
The loft is a battlefield. Not in the dramatic sense, but every glance, every word, feels like a calculated move. And right now, the war is over the thermostat.
I sit on the sofa later her first night in my space, legs sprawled out, laptop balanced on my knees working on updating accounts for the garage. The air is crisp, like it should be—because I keep the damn thermostat set at fifty-five. It’s how I work best. Always has been. The cold keeps my head clear, my body sharp.