Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Not even when we corralled the boys in the shallow end of the pool and he swam over to join me on the steps. Bracing his arms on the step behind him, he tipped his face back to catch the sun. Did he know what he looked like?
Chiseled muscle covered his chest, drops of water in his chest hair catching the light like diamonds against his tanned skin. And his face, those cut cheekbones, thick hair dark with water slicked back off his forehead. I could almost see him in the glossy pages of a magazine, advertising something expensive. His watch. The pool. It didn't really matter. You could balance a can of sardines on those abs and people would line up to buy them.
And yet, that image of Tenn didn't fit because Tenn was real. He was vital and present and way too potent to be contained by a photograph in a magazine. At that thought, at the heat deep inside as the word potent filled my head, I slid down the steps and sank under the water. I hadn't planned to get my hair wet, but I needed to cool off. His hard cock against my leg that morning had been potent as hell. I'd wanted it. Far too much. Kicking my feet, I crossed the shallow end of the pool, drifting closer to the boys. I needed to get out of touching range.
Kissing Tenn that morning had been a huge mistake. Massive.
Tenn Sawyer had been temping enough before I knew what he tasted like. How his hands felt on my hips, sliding over my skin. Now that I'd had a taste, all I wanted was more. I wanted to blame my libido, long-repressed and eager for control. I could, but it would be a lie and I really tried not to lie to myself. This wasn't just about his gorgeous face and that perfect body. This was about Tenn.
His external beauty was a distraction from the man inside. I was starting to believe he might be that most mythical of beasts—a good man. He was funny and kind and patient. Strong but not overbearing. I thought of the handcuffs and a shiver of lust hit me. I should be disgusted that he'd restrained me. With any other man, I would be. With Tenn, I couldn't help thinking about what I'd do if I had those cuffs. I could pin him down, straddle his hips, and…
I dunked under the water again. I knew how good it felt to straddle Tenn, to have his hands on me. Would I really want to restrain him? Another shiver. Yes, I think I would…
One last time, I dove beneath the cool water, holding my breath until my lungs burned, staying under until I had my head straight.
Tenn was not the point. I wasn't here for Tenn. I was here for Thatcher. Only Thatcher. It was a little scary how often I had to remind myself why I was here. Thatcher. Not Tenn.
I popped back up above the water, my eyes on the boys splashing in the shallowest corner of the pool. If I kept my eyes on the boys, I could try to pretend Tenn wasn't there.
I did my best, but as I tried to ignore him, I had the fleeting thought that maybe when this was over, when Thatcher was safe, maybe I could have Tenn. Just long enough to satisfy us both. Just a taste.
That was a problem for later. I had bigger problems than wanting to jump Tennessee Sawyer.
Still nothing from Thatcher as far as I knew. Tenn wouldn't give me my phone but he'd shown me the locked screen a few times. No missed calls. No texts. It was possible Thatcher had called and Hawk had intercepted him and erased the call history. The screen appeared to be locked, but Hawk looked like a man who had skills. The truth was I had no idea what he could do.
Regardless of the reason, not hearing from Thatcher was making me a little crazy. When I finally caught up to him, I was going to kill him. Even when I was distracted by Tenn, the cataloging project, or August, Thatcher was a buzz in the back of my head.
Was he safe? Where the hell was he and how long was it going to take him to get to Sawyers Bend? I knew I wouldn't be able to relax until I saw with my own eyes that he was okay.
Every second I had free, I spent searching for the ugly little bust of Vitellius. I knew my devotion to the art-cataloging project had to look weird. It wasn't like I was getting paid. As far as they knew, I was doing this for free to fill the time until the police chief caught Vanessa's killer.