Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Then she scampers away, leaving me alone with Binx, her sexy sweater, and sexier bra. And thanks to the adrenaline-fueled evening, my defenses are lower than they’ve ever been before.
I should head into the tent with Sprout. I should find a place to sit in a corner somewhere and bide my time until the cutting of the cake. Staying here with this woman who smells like wild roses and honeysuckle and looks at me like she wants to have me for dessert is a bad idea.
But when Binx asks, “Wanna climb a tree and hide from everyone while we wait?” I say, “Yes,” without missing a beat.
Because I’m a feral creature at heart, who never feels more at home than when I’m up a tree, climbing a rock face, or walking through a forest, miles from the nearest human being.
I like being alone. It’s why—as soon as my wildlife adventure tour business started making serious bank—I farmed out the task of leading the tours to my employees. I design, organize, and promote the tours, but I let the guides on payroll do the peopling. Once I have the camp running smoothly, I’ll do the same there. I’ll hire staff to run the wilderness retreat center and only go there myself on weeks when no one has rented it out.
My mother says I have a pathological aversion to humanity, always have, ever since I was a kid. But Binx isn’t one of the humans I want to escape from. She’s one of the few who make a moment shared with her better than time spent alone. Peace is good, but a connection like this is addictive.
It’s like fire, so warm and wonderful that you don’t realize the flames have jumped out of the pit and are setting your life ablaze until it’s too late.
Fire lingers in my thoughts as I give Binx a boost up to the tree’s first large limb, unable to ignore how good it feels to have my hands wrapped around her waist. I’m definitely playing with fire, crawling up into the darkness with this woman, but I can’t seem to force myself to turn around.
Sprout came by her wild streak honestly.
And the thought of spending the next half hour alone with Binx is too seductive to resist.
Chapter 3
Wendy Ann McGuire
A logical woman currently
thinking very illogical thoughts…
Istand, watching from behind a flower arrangement at the edge of the tent as Binx’s crush hoists her into a tree and climbs up after her, my wheels turning.
I’m sure many people would find it strange that a fully grown woman is climbing a tree at a wedding reception, but that’s just Binx. She’s always danced to the beat of her own drum.
And now she’s found a man who hears the same rhythm, a man who clearly adores his daughter and has so much love to give in that big, burly heart of his. A man who also happens to look at my sister like she’s the missing variable needed to solve his equation…
“They clearly belong together,” I mutter.
“I know, but they don’t get it. We have to do something,” comes a whisper from my left. I flinch in surprise and spin to see a little girl beside me.
It’s Sprout, Seven’s daughter. I recognize the description of her dress.
She lifts her hands into the air. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Binx told me to say hi. You’re Wendy Ann, right? Her sister?”
“Yes. And you’re Sprout.”
“Sophia is my real name, but everyone calls me Sprout. You can, too.” She flashes a charming, dimpled grin with a hint of mischief around the eyes. “Especially if you want to help with my mission.”
I frown. “Your mission…”
She nods. “To get Dad and Binx together. They’re already more in love than Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, the best couple there ever was, so it should be easy.”
I grunt softly. “Tangled is one of my favorite movies.”
Her smile widens. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“I knew you were smart. I could tell from your eyes. Smart people have bouncy eyes that never stop moving.”
“That could also be a neurological condition.”
She arches a brow. “Do you have a neurological condition?” She stumbles a bit on the word “neurological,” but she’s clearly comfortable with big words, and the slight affectation in her speech is barely noticeable. I remember Binx saying she was having trouble with bullies at school teasing her about the way she talks, but I can’t imagine why.
But then again, kids never needed a real reason to bully people when I was in elementary school, either. If they wanted to pick on you, they’d find an excuse, whether it was glasses or reading too much or bringing the same sandwich for lunch every day.
“No,” I confess. “I don’t.”
“I didn’t think so,” she says. “But you know what you do have?”
“What?”
“Time on your hands.”