Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Looks like a mess,” he says, his voice low, “but nothing I can’t handle.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Good. Because I don’t think this place—or me, for that matter—can handle another failure.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling, sending a jolt of something dangerously warm through me. “I think you’re tougher than you look.”
I snap my gaze to his, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or a challenge. “You don’t know anything about me.”
His eyes lock on mine, intense and unwavering. “I know enough. I know you like to act like you’re in control, but the second I walked in, I saw your thighs shift. Your chest rose higher, and you couldn’t look away.” He steps closer, the air between us charged. “You’re curious.”
I freeze, heart pounding in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“Am I wrong?” His grin turns downright wicked, clearly enjoying the way I’m squirming under his gaze.
The worst part? He’s not wrong. I don’t even have a proper comeback because my brain’s too scrambled from the way his presence invades my space, the way his voice dips low like we’re sharing a secret.
“I don’t know what you think you saw,” I manage, trying to summon some kind of defense. “But—”
“Yeah, you do.” He steps even closer, until his chest is almost brushing mine. “And I’m not complaining. Trust me.”
My pulse kicks up another notch. His proximity, his words—it’s like he’s daring me to acknowledge what’s happening between us. This pull. This heat.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, more to myself than him, but he hears it.
“Not impossible,” he counters, his voice a low rumble that rolls over my skin like a caress. “Just direct. Life’s short, Bella. No sense wasting time pretending we don’t both feel this.”
The way he says my name—it feels like a challenge. Like he’s waiting for me to make a move, to either push him away or pull him in.
I break eye contact first, desperately trying to regain some control. “You’re here to fix the wiring,” I say, but the words come out softer than I intend. “Not flirt.”
“Why can’t I do both?” He repeats, that infuriating grin still in place.
My brain is at war with my body. Part of me wants to shut this down, to stop him from getting under my skin, but the other part—the part that’s tired of always being in control—wants to see just how far this banter can go.
But I need to focus. “Just... get to work,” I say, taking a step back. “I’ve got other things to deal with.”
He doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, watching me like he’s still waiting for something. Then, finally, he turns back to the fuse box, his focus shifting to the wires, though I can still feel the playful edge to his movements.
“Let’s get to work then,” he says, crouching down, his voice carrying a promise. “For now.”
I watch him work, my mind still buzzing from the intensity of the exchange. I can’t tear my eyes away from the way his muscles flex beneath his shirt, the easy confidence in the way he handles the tools.
This man is trouble. I knew it the second he walked in the door.
But damn if I don’t like it.
Chapter Four
Archer
I’m knee-deep in wiring when her phone buzzes again. The sound has been a steady drumbeat since I got here, and every time it goes off, I see the flicker in her eyes. She doesn’t answer, but I can tell she wants to. It’s like she’s trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.
But I can feel the tension. It’s hanging in the air between us, thick and charged, making it harder to focus on the damn wires in front of me.
I wipe my hand across my forehead, leaning back on my heels, glancing up at her. She’s staring out the window again, arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together.
“You gonna answer that or keep pretending it’s not happening?” I ask, pushing just enough to see if she’ll bite.
Her body stiffens, and she turns away from the window slowly, her voice clipped. “It’s nothing.”
Yeah, right.
I stand, stretching my arms and wiping my hands on the rag I’ve been using. I don’t move closer—yet—but I keep my eyes on her. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” I say, my voice casual, even though I’m anything but. “That your ex?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp and defensive. “Why do you care?”
I shrug, leaning back against the wall, trying to keep the edge out of my tone. “I don’t. But if someone’s messing with you, I figure I should know. Might need to handle it.”
She lets out a bitter laugh, like she’s heard this before. “Handle it? What are you going to do, go all mountain-man on him? Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
I raise an eyebrow, letting a slow grin spread across my face. “Mountain-man, huh? Well, if he’s bothering you, I’ve got no problem handling him. Just say the word.”