Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
"Oh." My chest warms. My tongue twists. He's so handsome. And sexy. And the look in his eyes… there's desire, yes, but there's affection too. "I meant more… that people don't think you matter. You're not a person to them. You're a tool. Like a word processor or a coffee machine. It's the same as when I worked at Mai's restaurant."
"You're invisible."
I nod. "I thought I hated it. But this…" I hold up my left hand. "It's a whole different challenge."
"It's a lot of attention, the spotlight."
I nod.
"It will pass. We'll marry, people will talk about it for a few weeks, then they'll lose interest."
"And we'll just…"
"Live."
"But what will that look like?" I dunk my tea bag three times. The water gets a little darker. A slightly deeper brown. More flavor.
I take a sip. It's okay, not great. The water isn't warm enough for a proper steep. The tea isn't ready to unfurl. It isn't ready to reveal itself to me.
I swallow another sip. "Will you keep working late?"
His eyes stay on mine. He studies my expression, looking for something. "I always work long hours."
I'm not sure what I want, really. If this was real, I'd want it all. Happy dinners, long walks in the park, lazy afternoons on the couch. A family.
But this isn't real. I haven't spent time picturing my perfect fake marriage. "Do we sleep in separate rooms? Do you visit me to fuck me when it's convenient for you then leave?"
His gaze softens. "I don't want to give you the wrong idea."
"You can spend the night in my bed without giving me the wrong idea."
He studies my expression, deciding if he agrees. "Okay."
"Okay?"
He takes a sip of his coffee. "I'd like that."
"Oh." My heart thuds against my chest. He'd like that. It shouldn't mean so much, but it does. "And I… are you only going to take me out when you need to show me off?"
"Is there something else you'd like to do?"
"It would be nice to have dinner without worrying about what image I'm projecting."
He nods of course.
"Or we could go to the theater. Spend an afternoon in Central Park. Do you go to the park? Or is there too much mud?"
He half-smiles. "I'm not sure I've ever seen you covered in dirt."
It's true. I've never been the type to garden or hike or play with paint.
"I'm not sure I've ever seen you in flat shoes." He motions to my wedge sandals.
"I'm short."
"You're not." He shakes his head. "The average woman is five four."
"I'm average? Wow, I've never heard such a compliment."
His chuckle is easy. "Slightly above average."
"Stop. You're making me blush."
His expression shifts to something I can't place. Some look that screams of love and affection. "We'll be away from prying eyes soon. Then, we can do more. I… I want to protect you as much as I can." He motions to the aisle and the seats across from us. "Usually, I'd charter a private plane. More time to myself. Or ourselves." His intention drops into his voice. More time to tear off your clothes and fuck you senseless.
Or maybe it's the sex maniac who's taken over my brain. "Have you done that before?"
"Do you really want the answer to that?"
He might as well say yes. I bite my tongue.
"I like you jealous. I've never seen it on you."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he says. "I am too. I want to kill any man who's ever touched you."
"Oh." My cheeks flush. His possessiveness shouldn't soothe me, but it does.
"You were my first."
"You were mine."
His smile shifts. More nostalgic. Sad even. "After I got sober, sex was the only thing that made sense. It wasn't solely physical. Not exactly. But it wasn't personal either."
"You don't have to explain. You didn't owe me anything."
"But you're still jealous."
I nod.
"My tastes were always there. But I was afraid to give into them. I was afraid I'd scare you. That I'd scare myself."
I'm not sure what to say. Would I have accepted his need for control at sixteen? I doubt it. Even if I was interested—and I would have been—I would have been too shy.
"With other women… it was easier. I didn't care what they thought of me. And there were so many who wanted that. Who helped me figure it out."
I bite my tongue.
"I did care for some of them. But not the way I care for you."
"Oh."
"I always thought about you. Tying you to my bed. Pinning you to the wall. Wrapping my hand around your throat as I fucked you."
My thighs shudder. "You're teasing?"
"A little."
"To distract me?"
"Myself. I don't want to think about the other men. I hate that someone else has made you come. I hate that someone else has heard your groan."
"You still…" I swallow hard. I should hold on to this. Make him sweat it. But I can't. "I was never with Nick. I wouldn't. Even if I wanted revenge. He's like an older brother."