Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Twenty minutes later, I park my truck in front of one of the nicest houses in Clearwater. It's a stunning colonial-style ranch with a tall, wrought—iron gate surrounding the manicured lawn. Blu trim accents the crisp white exterior, highlighting the architecture's intricate details. Tall windows with shutters line the front of the house, inviting in natural light. A grand front door with a brass knocker sits at the top of a set of stone steps, welcoming visitors.
It's gorgeous.
It does not, however, belong to Sutton Reynolds, whoever she is. Marjorie Taylor owns the place, though she moved to California to live with her daughter a year ago. The house has been vacant ever since.
I guess it's occupied now.
Every light in the house is on, lighting it up like Sutton's trying to burn away the night.
I grab my tool belt, coveralls, and a pair of waders, and climb from the truck.
The door flies open before I'm halfway up the steps.
"Jesus," I mumble, stumbling to a stop when I set eyes on the curvy little brunette wringing her hands together in the doorway. Her big doe eyes are bright pools, framed by long lashes and her wild hair. Twin spots of color dot her round cheeks. She's petite, wearing nothing but an old T-shirt with Willie Nelson's face splashed across the front of it and the tiniest pair of shorts I've ever seen. Her fucking legs go on for days. And those curves? Goddamn, I could get lost in that body and not regret a second of it.
There's enough of her to sink into and hold on tight. I fucking love that. I grew up in the South, where life revolves around food. Women are thick and plump and goddamn beautiful. It's different on the west coast. The women are still beautiful, don't get me wrong, but they're tiny. Tiny isn't my type. Sutton Reynolds, though? Oh, fuck yeah.
"Grr."
A streak flies out of the door at her feet, growling.
"Koda, don't you do it!" she cries.
The little streak of lightning immediately goes rigid, stopping on a dime like this is an elementary school, and they're three rounds deep in a game of freeze tag. I glance down at him and chuckle. Of fucking course he's a chihuahua. The brown and white ball of fluff doesn't even come up past my boot.
"Sorry about him. He has no manners."
"Puppy?"
She grimaces. "That's what people tell me, but I think he's a terrorist in disguise."
I chuckle quietly. "Is he going to bite me if I come any closer?"
"Doubtful. He likes to make a lot of noise, but he doesn't usually bite. He just likes to let everyone know he's fierce." She rolls her eyes, though her expression is soft when she looks at him. She adores him, as much as she pretends his attitude annoys her. The feeling is clearly mutual because he's grinning at her like she's the best thing since sliced cheese. "He thinks he's a big, scary guard dog."
I kneel where I'm standing and hold out my hand for him to sniff.
"Hey, Koda," I murmur as he trots toward me to give me a sniff. "What's up, little man?"
He prances all around me, carefully looking me over. And then he notices the tool belt looped over my arm. His upper body lowers to the ground. He growls, which honestly sounds more like a demonic yell, and then launches himself at it, teeth first.
"Koda!" Sutton cries, exasperated. "It's not going to murder us in our sleep. It's just a tool belt."
I wave her off, scooping him up into one hand. "He isn't going to hurt the damn thing with those tiny teeth."
She snorts at me. "You clearly haven't felt the business end of those teeth. They're little razors of hate that never dull."
I laugh, carrying him up the steps to her as he tries to launch himself at the tool belt again, clearly trusting it far less than he does me. He's easily subdued, though. I don't think he even weighs five pounds.
"Here." I deposit him into her waiting arms, gritting my teeth when my skin meets hers and an electric current runs up my arm.
She feels it, too. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as a shiver works through her. Those big doe eyes lock on my face, the spots of color in her cheek blooming brighter. Up close, she's even more beautiful. Her porcelain skin is flawless save for the tiny smattering of freckles across her nose. She also smells incredible.
My goddamn dick reacts like he's trying to fight his way free of my pants, pressing against my zipper hard enough to leave indentions up and down my shaft. Fuck me. That hurts like a son of a bitch.
We stare at each other for a long, silent moment before she speaks. "T-thank you for coming to rescue me, Mr. Maverick."