Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“Sure about that?” His voice is teasing, dripping with amusement.
“I’m not an idiot,” I snap, rummaging through some paint chips to distract myself. “It’s a furnace filter.”
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Furnace filters are pretty standard,” I argue, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sixteen by twenty. Nothing complicated.”
His grin widens, and I catch a glimpse of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe nowadays, but you live in one of the old apartments at the end of main street, right? I know for a fact that your landlord hasn’t replaced the old furnace in over thirty years. You need a sixteen by twenty-five.”
Damn it. I hate that he’s probably right. I glare at him as he hands me the correct filter, his plaid shirt stretching over the lean lines of his biceps. He’s standing there, all tall and cocky, with his long legs spread in a wide stance, clearly enjoying this.
“Fine.” I snatch the filter from his hand.
“Thank you will do–where are your manners, precious?” His eyes sparkle. He knows he’s under my skin and I hate it.
“Don’t call me that.” I husk back.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe in a way that makes my breath hitch. The sensation shoots through me like a jolt of electricity, straight between my thighs. My heart races. I hate how easily he can affect me.
“Well,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly as I fight for control, “don’t call me that either.”
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends more shivers down my spine. I hate how much I like it. He plucks the old filter from my hands and returns it to the shelf, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You should replace it more often,” he advises. “Mountain winters are hard on the HVAC systems up here.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, turning on my heel to head for the counter. I need to get out of here before this tension spirals out of control.
“Anytime, Prec—”
I whip around and shoot him a glare so fierce that he actually stops mid-sentence, his smirk widening.
“What would you like me to call you?” he asks, his head tilting slightly as his dark hair falls deliciously over his forehead. Damn him for looking so boyish and devilishly sexy all at once.
“Ruby will do,” I respond curtly, pushing past him and heading straight for the old man at the counter.
“Right,” he says, chuckling again. “Well, if you need anything, just give me a holler.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I cut him off, desperate to shut this conversation down before he can say anything else. I’m cursing the town council for hiring Pope to built the addition on the library. Now, six-foot-four inches of pure, sexy trouble is biting me in the ass.
He arches an eyebrow, giving me that heart-stopping grin again before he finally turns and walks out of the hardware store.
The old man behind the counter smiles at me warmly. “Find everything all right?”
“Yes, thanks,” I reply, trying to steady my breath.
“What’d you say your name was?” he asks kindly as he rings up my items.
“I didn’t,” I answer, my voice quieter. “But it’s Ruby.”
“Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
I nod, grateful for his warmth, and then quickly make my exit. The bell over the door rings as I step out into the cool, mountain air, and I let out a long breath.
The next afternoon, I drive slowly down Main Street after stocking up on groceries, taking in the sights of Copper Mountain, fall leaves swirling on the wind. I pass lake where small boats are docked, rusted old pickup trucks with trailer hitches parked nearby. I pull into a small park and watch the waves lick the shore, my mind wandering.
A car door slams a few spots down from me, catching my attention. I glance over, and my heart sinks.
Son of a bitch. It’s him.
Of course, it’s him. What are the odds? He’s talking to someone at the edge of the parking lot and I can’t help but watch as they shake hands. Then he moves around the bumper and spots me.
My stomach flips, and I turn the key in the ignition, praying the car starts so I can get out of here. The engine sputters but doesn’t turn over.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, slamming my head against the steering wheel. Please, please don’t let him see me.
I try again. Nothing. “Come on,” I whisper desperately, but it’s no use.
Suddenly, his voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me, Precious.”
I groan inwardly, my eyes rolling up to meet his infuriatingly smug expression.
“You’re an ass,” I snap, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
He chuckles, leaning in through the window, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Heat floods my cheeks, and I can feel the blush creeping up my neck. I turn the key again, and this time, the engine roars to life.