Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
At the end of this, there was a partial wall of brick, which included a fireplace, and above it, a large, mounted TV.
There was a wall of windows to the other side, which gave him a view of more grasses and the trunk of his shade tree.
At the back, to the side, beyond the partial wall, I saw a rectangular dining room table, four chairs, two on each side.
Beyond the partial wall, I couldn’t see and didn’t try, because Rix had rounded it and was walking toward me at the door.
My mind had been skirting around the thoughts that Rix’s attractive, airy space had been put together by or with Peri.
But it skirted that no longer when I caught sight of him.
I’d never known him with legs, so I didn’t know what his gait used to be like.
And there was definitely a hitch in his step, no escaping it, even if it was minimal.
However, I figured the sexy sway of those lean hips had always been there.
He’d changed from the crisp cargos and button-down he wore to work to very faded jeans and an equally faded tee that used to be navy blue, had a white insignia over the heart with some bars under it and beneath that, it said Prescott Fire/Medical.
On the left arm, there was a yellow circle.
In it was the number 19.
Seeing that, a chill slid across the small of my back, like it always did at the reminder of the nineteen Granite Mountain Hotshot firefighters who died in the Yarnell Fire. Something I assumed in one way or another was what happened to anyone in Prescott or Prescott Valley who was reminded of those men who lost their lives in 2013, one of the worst losses of men in firefighter history, obviously not including 9/11.
During my crush days, I’d done my research through what I hoped were not telling or inappropriate questions to Judge. But Judge had offered up the information that that was before Rix’s time as a Hotshot.
He’d become one right after that tragedy.
And then he’d had his own tragedy.
He opened the door and stood in it.
I stared up at him. “Hey.”
His lips twitched. “Hey.”
Okay, right, in this scenario, what would a fiancée do?
I had to break the seal on this, and I feared if I didn’t now, it would be never.
So I got closer to him.
He didn’t move.
I leaned even closer to him.
He bent his neck, holding my gaze.
My heart slid up and lodged firmly in my throat as I rolled up on my toes.
Something happened in his caramel eyes that triggered something happening between my legs, so although I was aiming at his mouth, in the end, I panicked and brushed mine softly against the side of his.
I got a nuance of the feel of his lips, the full, heady impact of the bristle of his whiskers (he’d come to work on Monday shaved, but he hadn’t shaved since, yes, I was keeping track) and then I started moving away.
I didn’t get far.
His hand came up and cupped me under my ear.
“Hey,” he murmured this repeat.
Annnnnnd….
Ohmigod.
The sound of that drove up between my legs, like a phantom thrust.
He was still murmuring when he went on, “I feed you. I water you. You bring shit to my house again, baby, and I spank your ass.”
I blinked.
Though I did it through another phantom thrust.
He let me go (though he didn’t do that until after he’d glided his thumb soft as a whisper along the sensitive skin in front of my ear, gah!), tugged the bottle of wine out of my hand, the handle of the six-pack from the other, then he stepped back, reaching an arm long with the wine in his hand to indicate my welcome.
I walked in.
Being in his house was better than being outside, looking in.
It really was attractive and well-put-together, but not in a way it was scary. Like, you didn’t want to touch anything or mess anything up.
You would definitely feel comfortable curling up on that couch with your feet under you or setting a drink on one of the plethora of options available.
I heard the door close and then Rix and his swaying hips were moving through the space.
“We’re having baked chicken parm and couscous ’cause I’m not feeling a lot of effort. I’ll wow you with my culinary skills tomorrow at the grill. We’re chilling out tonight,” he declared as he went.
I followed him.
We rounded the partial wall, and I met his kitchen.
It was another revelation. Mid-century feel. Light-wood cabinets with top edge, long finger cabinet pulls. Pear-colored tile with interesting white lines through it going from the stainless-steel countertops to the ceiling. Though, on the back wall, sandwiched between narrow upper cabinets and counter with the sink, was all windows. A short bar with two stools on the outside which faced the dining room table.