Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
The others laugh as I take May’s hand and lead her away from the door.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she gasps a little as we round another corner. “That was so …”
“Perfect.” I kiss her, pressing her against the wall as I taste her fully, savoring the velvet feel of her tongue on mine.
She winds her arms around my neck, her passion from earlier morphing into heat, the kind that could burn a man from the inside out.
“May,” I groan against her lips and cup one of her breasts, feeling the hard nipple beneath my thumb. So fucking hot.
A moan escapes her as I kiss her throat, sucking the skin between my teeth. Jesus, she’s a tiger when she wants to be.
Another gasp, and then she stiffens.
“What?” I’m immediately on alert as I lift my head and check the hallway.
“Look.” She points over my shoulder. “It’s the Farrol Room.”
20
MAY
“Holy moly.” There is so much crap in the room. It’s like we’ve stepped right back into Mrs. Farrol’s home. “How much did she freaking donate?”
“I don’t know where to look.” Carson shakes his head. Isn’t that the truth? It’s overwhelming and loud.
The gold wallpaper has swirls of a rich pink. They even painted the crown molding in deep gold interspersed with flicks of lighter gold. The room screams, Look at me. I'm rich. I’m so fucking rich. One thing is for certain: No one would ever mistake Mrs. Farrol for being demure.
“I bet there is real gold in some of this.”
“I wouldn't be shocked.”
We walk around the room. There are locked glass cases filled with pictures and various awards. "You think she paid someone off for some of these? Fitzy isn't the cutest cat on the block. Inbreeding, I suppose."
“Carson.” I gasp in mock horror that he would say such a thing.
All cats are cute in their own right. He’s right, Fitzy isn’t the handsomest cat around, but everyone has their own taste. Obviously, Mrs. Farrol needs a little help with hers or maybe some glasses. But I will never admit that out loud.
“Compared to Mousey, I mean.” He shrugs.
I fight a giant smile. I think Carson is growing quite fond of her. Of course, everyone thinks their own cat is the cutest, but in this case, it’s true. Mousey is adorable. Would he want her for himself when this is all over? The thought makes a pang of sadness hit me. I’ve been thinking of her as our cat.
Concentrate. I shake those thoughts away. It’s not the time to be worrying about all that. I have only known Carson a couple of days. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about us really sharing anything. I need to not be selfish and focus on finding Fitzy to get the money for my shelter.
I go back to inspecting the cases. I’m not sure what we might find here. I start to believe this is a dead end until I get to a picture of Mrs. Farrol with a large group of people.
“It’s her wedding.” Carson comes over to see for himself. “Bet this was the event of the year.” There are seven bridesmaids. I don’t even think I have that many friends if cats aren’t included.
In true Mrs. Farrol fashion, her dress is overdone, taking up most of the picture. The tiara she’s wearing looks fit for a queen. I wouldn’t be shocked if it were from some royal collection with how ornate it is. Maybe she borrowed it from Queen Liz.
I can’t help but fantasize a little about what it would be like to get married to Carson. Would I want an over-the-top wedding or something more simple? I always steer toward plain and unassuming, but with the way Carson makes me feel, a princess wedding doesn’t sound so bad.
“Everyone seems happy except one.” Carson taps the glass, interrupting my thoughts. He points out the bridesmaid with a sour expression on her face in the wedding photo. The woman isn’t smiling at the camera like everyone else. No, she’s glaring at the bride and groom.
“Whoa…” Now that is a woman scorned. “You think Mrs. Farrol stole her man or something?”
“I don’t know, but she’s pissed. It’s not much of a lead, but we have to start somewhere. Bridal party may be our best bet for people who are or were close to Mrs. Farrol.” Carson glances over his shoulder to the doorway, making me think someone is entering the room, but once he sees it’s all clear, he pulls out a small knife-looking contraption. I watch as he picks the lock on the glass case in record time.
“Does the FBI teach you that?” I whisper. Why is this kind of hot?
“Nah, I learned that one when I was a kid.” He reaches in, grabbing the frame to remove the picture. I take it from him.