Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87015 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s a gas grill with an auto-start. You won’t even need a match.” Cash was busy retrieving items from the fridge.
“Darn.” I pretended to be all put out, mainly because I liked this playful side of Cash that had come out since our hike and sex in the woods. And talk about crossing an item off my bucket list, neither the novelty of the picnic nor the outdoor escapades had disappointed. Now my biggest goal was getting a repeat.
“Is it supposed to get cold again tonight?” I asked as Cash arranged hot dogs on metal skewers.
“Think so. Why? Was it cold in the loft?’’ Cash took my bait so beautifully it was a wonder I wasn’t a pro fisherman on one of those nature channels.
“Very.” I tried to look suitably chilly, adding a shudder. “You should sleep up there too.”
“And then we can both freeze?” He frowned, pausing with a zucchini in his hand. “I could trade with you. Warmer down here.”
“You lack an imagination, Cash,” I scolded.
“So I’ve been told,” he said mildly, almost too mildly, like he was working to not get irked over that.
“Well, imagine this. If you sleep in the loft, neither of us will be cold. We’ll keep each other warm. Body heat. You know, like every piece of camping porn ever?”
“I’ll keep you warm,” he said with a curt nod like he was taking on another job. Great. Not exactly the romantic snuggling I had in mind. I gave him a pointed look, but he was back to focusing on the vegetables. “But I never had much use for porn.”
“Clearly, you’ve been watching the wrong stuff.” I stood back while he whacked the zucchini into chunks with a large knife. Trying to make myself useful, I fetched plates for after the food was cooked.
“Clearly.” A flush spread up from his beard. “Like I said, I lack an imagination.”
“We could make our own.” I grabbed my new camera off the counter and held it up. I’d had fun all afternoon, wandering around taking pictures of the creek and property, catching a few birds. And capturing Cash splitting firewood. Those pics were fine lumberjack eye candy, but I hadn’t managed to convince him to part with his shirt for even tastier pictures.
“Trust me when I tell you that no one needs to see my naked ass, and probably far too many people would pay to see yours.” He carried the skewers of hot dogs along with ones with vegetables on them out to the grill area.
“This is true,” I groaned, sitting down on one of the wooden chairs. “I mean, I would personally kill to see yours, and plenty of people would likely agree. Feel free to make dinner late and pose for me right now.”
“Come over here, and I’ll show you how to light the grill,” he ordered, ignoring my suggestion. But it was nice the way he kept making an effort to include me in tasks, show me how to do things without making me feel dumb for not already knowing. “It’s probably not as fun as homemade porn, but how about target practice after dinner instead?”
“I like my kind of shooting better. But okay.” I’d work on him later for some private pictures. We’d spent the day doing mainly what I wanted. I could give him the target practice time.
“Mine is more practical.” His voice was pragmatic as he demonstrated the ignition for the grill, which roared to life. “I should show you some basic self-defense moves too.”
“Like now you flipped me earlier? You can do that again.” I leered at him as he fiddled with the various knobs that controlled the flame.
He looked up to roll his eyes at me. “Do you ever not think about sex?”
“Around you? No. Also, when the alternative is thinking about creepy stalkers and how I’m going to need a new home, yes, I would rather think about sex.” I returned to my chair, flopping down with a thud.
“You think you need a new house?” He frowned, apparently in no hurry to put the food on the grill.
“You said it yourself. It’s tough to properly secure. And I’m not sure I’m ever feeling safe there again,” I admitted.
“Danny…” Abandoning the food, Cash came to set a big hand on my shoulder. “Sorry. I meant Daniel.”
“It’s okay.” I tipped my head back so I could smile up at him. Unlike the previous twenty-five years of my life, I liked when Cash called me Danny. Especially in sexy situations, but also right then. Like I meant something. Like I was special. Like me being scared mattered. “I don’t mind the name so much when you say it. And it’s not like I’m super attached to the place. It was an impulse purchase.”
“It’s your home,” Cash said patiently, seeing right through my bluster as usual. “It’s okay to be mad and freaked out that someone violated your space. Aren’t you the one who told me it was okay to feel how I feel?”