Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I shake my head, a little mad at the fact this cottage is going to go even more to waste because of Harry’s little sister, and shove my hands into my pockets. There’s a stack of suitcases and bags by the door, left outside with no regard for safety, and the front door is wide open. For fuck’s sake. Is this girl really so naive?
I sigh heavily and take the final steps up to the door, nettles and thistles crumpling beneath my boots as I try to flatten out an actual path.
I raise a hand to knock against the doorframe, waiting a few seconds for an answer that doesn’t come.
“Hello?” I shout instead. I’m going to have to call Harry and get him to come over to drag his sister back home—
“Coming!” a feminine voice calls back, followed by the thundering of footsteps on the creaking staircase.
The woman nearly falls down the last stair, feet scuffling on the floor as she comes to a stop.
Holy shit. There’s no fucking way this is Harry’s little sister.
“Oh my god,” she says, stumbling over the words as her wide eyes land on me. Wide green eyes that match the overgrowth around the house nearly perfectly. Her lips part in what looks like surprise, and I can’t fucking help but notice how plush and soft they are.
“Dahlia?” I ask, sure there’s been some sort of mix-up.
This is not the shy, dorky eleven-year-old I knew. This is absolutely not Harry’s sister. It can’t be. My face morphs into a frown as I analyze her, looking her up and down. Fucking hell, her body…curvy and soft. She must be a foot shorter than me, and she has to tip her head back to look me in the face, stretching her neck in a way that makes me want to run my lips over her fluttering pulse—
Fuck. No. No.
“That’s me,” she answers, her freckled cheeks turning pink.
“Jesus,” I mutter, stunned fucking senseless.
I have half a mind to ask her if she’s sure that’s who she really is, but I catch myself, instead murmuring, “Last time I saw you, you were…” I run my hand through my hair, tugging at it as I try to get a fucking grip. “Now you’re…” Beautiful. Stunning. Fucking delicious.
She clears her throat, bouncing on her heels a little. I rip my eyes away before I can notice the way the movement makes her chest bounce. Get a grip, Dylan, get a fucking grip. But my body doesn’t give a shit what my brain is begging for because my cock is focused on how utterly gorgeous she is.
“All grown up,” Dahlia chirps, and I swallow my groan.
Yeah, she’s definitely not Harry’s kid sister anymore.
And I’m absolutely fucked.
3
DAHLIA
My skin prickles as sparks fly through me, my heart rocketing in my chest so hard I feel breathless. It’s as though his very presence has swallowed up all the available air in this house because the swirling mess of incoherent thoughts in my brain has to be a result of oxygen deprivation.
Dylan is… Yeah, there’s no words. Hot doesn’t even come close. Beautiful seems too nice. Mind-bogglingly, drool-worthy, panty-meltingly captivating. I think I must be hallucinating because there’s no way on earth a man like this actually exists, but no matter how many times I blink, he’s still there. In my doorway. Looking at me like I’ve gone mad.
He might be right.
“You…uh…you look…different,” I bumble out, wanting to kick myself immediately.
He raises a dark brow, lips turning down at the sides. “Ten years changes a lot,” he says gruffly.
No shit. Ten years ago, I was in middle school. Ten years ago, Dylan was twenty-seven, older than I am now. I swallow thickly. Dylan. Harry’s best friend. Here to help me with the house because, no doubt, my older brother begged him to.
Not here for me to jump on. No matter how tempting it is.
The pulse between my legs very much disagrees with my logic.
I laugh, trying to act normal and pretend like my body isn’t completely betraying me. “Yeah, if I told eleven-year-old me what I was doing now, I think she’d faint. I fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt just for something to do with my hands so I don’t do something stupid like reach for him instead.
He doesn’t laugh with me, or even crack a smile beneath that beard of his. I shuffle on my feet under his assessing stare, struggling to pinpoint the expression in his icy blue eyes. I feel oddly exposed as he looks at me, but I can’t decide if it makes me want to run and hide or strip down so he can look some more.
I can only stand a few seconds under the gravity of his focus. He doesn’t reply, only stands silently in my doorway. I clear my throat, turning away in a feat of sheer strength.