Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Bees. Fucking bees.
And yes, I hate the fact that I’m even thinking she’s endearing at all when she’s rambling on about her ugly stinging bugs, how they’re basically telepathic or some shit with the chemical signals they use to communicate.
I don’t know why I’m listening at all. I’m not interested in bees, their future, or this magic purple honey. I blame her voice, soft and inviting, this light echo humming in my ear.
The sooner we get the hell out of here, the better.
“Oh, and Archer.” She touches my arm lightly, then flinches back like I’m made of uranium. “Now that I’ve seen this, I might have to stay the full month.”
“The full month.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Even if she pays top dollar for her time, how the fuck will I survive a full month of this?
“Yes. This place would benefit from a full-time beekeeper. You didn’t see it, but those frames were full of honey. The bees can’t make more if there’s no more space.”
“Tragic,” I clip.
Winnie’s soft green eyes flare.
“D-ad, come on.” Colt tugs my arm.
“Okay, okay. I’m sure a full-time beekeeper could manage this better, however…” I can’t find the words.
Not when I’m lost wondering what she’ll get me to agree to next.
This isn’t fucking good, whatever black magic spell book she has that keeps me so open to her kind of crazy.
Winnie hunts through the kitchen cabinets until she scares up a couple mason jars. I’m a little proud they’re here. We really thought of everything when we set up these cabins.
“These are perfect!” She smiles and holds them up. “Colt, do you think you could head back to the shed and put a jar under the tap on the extractor? Just turn it on. The honey will need some straining, but the sooner we get it in glass, the better.”
“Will do.” He takes the jars with a friendly nod and leaves through the back door at a steady jog.
“Not too fast, Colt! You’re carrying glass,” I call after him.
“He’s a sweet kid.” Winnie watches him fondly.
In a few quick movements, like she’s done it a thousand times before, she strips out of her suit. It takes her a second to get the bulky pants down over her hips.
My day gets worse instantly.
I have to rivet my eyes to the wall, and they still try to wander, capturing an illicit strip show I never asked for.
She’s not being the weirdo this time.
That’s all me and my stuffy, long-neglected lust. My cock hardens in my pants as I watch her shake her way out of that thing.
Mother of God, the hips on this girl. I barely stop short of stuffing my knuckles in my mouth and biting down until I taste blood.
With the bee suit shed, she’s back to wearing white shorts and a baby-blue silk blouse she’s tied off just above her navel, revealing a tease of skin.
“Colt picks up on new stuff fast, doesn’t he?” she asks with a smile that flays me to the bone.
“Sure does.” I don’t dare unfold my arms as I look at her, making sure I only see her face. The last thing I need is a distraction from the question burning through my haze of mindless desire. “Here’s a question for you—why didn’t you mention your father’s the goddamned Attorney General sooner?”
“Oh, um… crap.” She winces.
“Crap is right.”
“I know. I know, you’re right to be concerned.”
“The Attorney General of Missouri, Winnie. Not just some random business jerkoff.”
“I know.” She wilts, hiding behind her hair before brushing it back from her face. She opens one eye to peek at me. “Will you still keep my secret?”
No woman has the right to be this alluring when she’s a walking curse.
“Did I say I wouldn’t? I’ll keep it, yes, but so far he hasn’t given up.”
“He called you again? Oh, God.”
“A voicemail. To my personal number this time. Who knows where he got that.”
She sighs heavily and collapses on the sofa, her head lolling back. From this angle, I can see the way her hair cascades down her neck onto the cushions.
God, this woman.
What the hell is she doing to me, making me think of hair cascading at all?
“You’re right,” she whispers, looking at me from basically upside down. There’s no hint of her earlier joy or the teasing glint in her eyes now. “I haven’t been thinking this through. Don’t worry, Archer. I’m going to face the music soon, I promise.”
“When?” I tap a finger against my bicep, trying to fight back my skepticism.
“My dad can be awful and pushy, but he’s not that insane. It’s a family matter. He won’t drag you into court or something.”
“A family matter,” I echo coldly. “And what? You’ll just snap your fingers and fix it?”
With a groan, she heaves herself up and walks over to me.