Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
I laugh. “Gabe. You are so—you.”
“Yes, I am,” he says, “and I’ll help you define what that means, in all kinds of ways, I promise.” He laces his fingers with mine and leads me through the house, and it’s this action, this romantic gesture that has nothing to do with sex, and yet everything to do with us, that has my heart swelling for this man.
“What do you think of the house?” he asks.
“The fireplace is incredible,” I say, as we pass the massive stone structure.
“That fireplace sold me on the house,” he says, leading me out to an enclosed garden room where Dexter is now on a bed, with a massive chew bone under attack by his mouth. “There’s actually a dog door,” he says, pointing to it, “and an enclosed side yard, which he already found.”
“This is perfection, Gabe,” I say, scanning the rectangular-shaped room that is bare except for Dexter. “You haven’t done anything with this room, why?”
“I can’t figure out what the hell to do with it. I guess I need to get someone in to help, but I haven’t really put that high on my things to do list.”
“I have ideas,” I offer before I can stop myself. “I mean well—if you—”
“I do,” he says, leaning in and kissing me, his mouth close, breath warm, teasing my cheek as he adds, “Keep saying things that place us together, tomorrow and the day after and the day after. It works for me. It works for us, Abbie.”
I want to melt into him, to absorb those words and enjoy this man, but fear balls in my chest and I find myself pulling back. “I’m being selfish.” I press my hand to his chest. “I want you and this and us. But I’m forgetting who he is. He will come for you. He will, Gabe.”
“Wait,” he says, pulling me in front of him. “Are you saying that wanting me is selfish?”
“Yes. It is. He’ll come after you.”
“Be selfish,” he orders. “I like selfish when it includes you with me. And let him come, Abbie. I can handle him, but from this point forward, we’re together. We’re seeing this through together.”
“I can’t say that. We just met.”
“We’re together. Don’t say it. I’ll show you.” He kisses my hand. “Now, what does Dexter need that I’m forgetting? We need to grab some food on our way to the shelter.”
“You mean the ranch.”
“Same thing now,” he says, winking. “We’re taking it over.” He turns me to face Dexter. “Water. No food. He has his bone. Anything else?”
I lean back to look over my shoulder at him. “No. Dexter is fine.” I rotate in his arms. “Gabe.”
“No more in and out, Abbie. In or out. We’re in this together or we’re not.”
I tell myself to say no, but I know that’s not going to happen. “In,” I say softly. “I’m in.”
He rewards me with a devastatingly handsome smile. “Then let’s go eat. Do you like a good burger? I know a great spot on the way to the ranch.”
“I’m in again,” I say. “Burgers are one of my favorites.” And before I know his intent, the fingers of one hand sliding into my hair and he’s turned me to press me against the wall, his big body framing mine, powerful legs capturing my legs. His free hand settling under my coat on my waist.
“Gabe,” I whisper, tilting my chin up to his, offering him my mouth by no conscious choice, and he is already there, his lips on my lips, his tongue licking into my mouth, drugging me with the spicy, addictive taste of him. That’s it. His word. My dilemma. I’m addicted to this man and I have been since the minute I saw him in the bar, even before that spontaneous kiss.
“What was that for?” I ask when his lips part from mine.
“For being so damn perfect.”
My brow furrows. “But all I did was claim a love of burgers.”
“Which,” he says, “is a highly admirable quality.”
I laugh. “You just wanted to kiss me.”
“Hmmm. I want to do a whole lot more than kiss you, but the animals are waiting.” My stomach growls and he laughs. “And so is a burger with your name on it.”
I laugh and he laughs again and it’s fun. I’m having fun with this man, even in the middle of so much insanity. “Let’s get back out to the car,” he says, linking his fingers with mine, a possessive, romantic action that says he can’t stop touching me. I can’t stop touching him either.
With a warm blanket of awareness wrapping us, we exit the house again into a cold night, but this man warms me beyond that chill. He releases me to lock up and my phone buzzes with a text.
Dread fills me with the idea that it’s my ex again, of course, it is. I didn’t reply to his message. I glance down and read: Silence is not your friend. You can’t silent treatment this away.