Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“What? No.” I feel my cheeks heat. “No, it’s just a hobby. Something my grandma got me interested in.”
I think he’s going to drop it, but he tilts his head as he reconsiders. “She’s into beekeeping too?”
“She had bees. I mean, she was rich enough to have gardeners and landscapers like you. She had a few beekeepers over the years. I was always fascinated by the way they’d handle the bees, even when I was a little girl. Whenever I’d go over to her place, I used to just sit and watch them for hours.” I stop, a lump forming in my throat.
Going over to see my grandparents was always an escape. A release from normal life.
Between Dad demanding perfect grades and piling on extracurriculars, and Mom needing her pretty little girl to dress up, Grandma and Grandpa just wanted me.
Just Winnie, simple and unfiltered.
They’re the only ones who let me be a kid.
Archer comes closer. There’s still space between us, but less now, and the air vibrates.
“So that’s where you picked it up?” he prompts.
“When I got older, Grandma told the beekeepers to teach me things when she saw how much I liked it. It was the one thing that was mine, not like the other stuff my parents decided I should do. All my life, I’ve been doing stuff because other people said I should. My dad told me what to study, what to believe. My mom used to pick out my clothes, my haircut, my shampoos and toothpaste. Everything—ugh. But the bees, they were mine, this sweet escape I had until the day my grandma died. My parents never knew until I was almost grown.”
“Damn, woman, that’s harsh. Sorry you felt like you needed one.” His voice blurs gentle and rough.
The sharp glint in his eye says if he’d had a say, he would’ve done it differently.
Tingles.
The longer I stare at him, the more heat I feel, humming under my skin.
“I mean, it’s fine now. It’s nothing. Nobody has a perfect childhood, right? I’d rather figure out the rest of my life than waste more time blaming my parents.” I wave a dismissive hand. Mostly because dwelling on it too long will make me cry, and I’ve done more than enough of that around Archer. “I think Mom still allowed it when she found out because she thought it was a phase. Something I’d leave behind after high school, but I’ve loved it ever since.”
“It’s admirable, Winnie. You loved something enough to pursue it for so long. Hell of a lot of people out there who never find that.”
I smile softly.
“I wish you could convince my father.” I sound bitter, so I force that smile to stay a little longer and gently brush a bee off his shoulder. “There. See how friendly they are when you’re calm? You didn’t even notice he was there.”
“He, huh?” Archer narrows his eyes. “You saying you’re an expert on all bee anatomy?”
“Oh, stop. I’m sure yours is bigger, if that’s what has you worried.”
Then it happens.
He laughs.
His lips split into a big, messy smile that makes my heart cartwheel, and I realize my hand is still on his shoulder.
Oh, no, I should move it.
Any second now, I’m going to move it and step back.
But his eyes flick to mine as his laughter fades. My breath catches in my throat and the rest of the world falls away.
I don’t know when we started moving, but we’re closer still, basically sharing breathing space. The height difference is so much I have to tip my head back.
His gaze drops to my mouth and I catch my breath.
Please kiss me.
Please just once.
The force of that illicit, insane thought takes me by surprise.
It doesn’t matter if we’re sharing bad jokes and bees.
He’s a stranger. Older and rich and successful enough to make heads spin and ugly whispers fly.
There are definite reasons—very good ones—why we should absolutely not kiss right now if we value our lives. Especially the fact that we’re total opposites and—
And okay, aside from that, maybe I can’t think of any reasons. Considering the way his face is closer than it was a few seconds ago, I don’t want to think of any.
This warm, fluttery feeling pulses in my belly. My hand on his shoulder clenches, fingers digging into his hard muscle.
“Winnie,” he rumbles.
God, the way he says my name alone is an eruption.
And I know how crazy this is.
I know I’ve lost it as I stretch up on my tiptoes and put my hand on his other shoulder to steady myself in case my knees give out.
I know his hand lands on my waist, quick and possessive, and his nose brushes mine with the slightest touch that still feels like a fireball.
I know I’ve never experienced a single moment this erotically charged.
Or a man like a human mountain, who takes his sweet time deciding if he wants to take what I’m offering in the most patient, painstaking way possible.