Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
My family owns this area of New York known as The Cove. Businesses pay us to keep them safe, and we employ over two-thirds of the residents. It's a power move that has served us well.
I wonder what it's like being back in New York for her.
Her family home is thirty minutes from here, but she didn't spend her childhood there.
I open the door and touch the app on my phone.
“New York style pizza,” I tell her. “I like it with a lot of meat. Sausage, bacon, pepperoni. Red sauce, none of that white sauce bullshit. You order anything you want.”
I'm not just trying to appease her this time. The truth is, I've been eating it this way since the first time I saw her.
I place it in the cart and hand her my phone.
It's dark when we enter the foyer. I don't bother to flick on overhead lighting. I know from my distance surveillance that this house has been undisturbed, just how I like it. I had a cleanup crew sent to where she set fire, but luckily the damage was contained and you’d never know what happened.
“I don't need anything else. That looks fine,” she says quietly. She doesn’t want to admit it’s her favorite.
“They're kinda known for their handmade ice cream. It might help… the bleed off.”
She fucking adores ice cream more than any chocolate or baked goods or anything like that. She gives me a sidelong look. “You want to fatten me up?”
No, baby. You're fucking perfect. You don't need to change a fucking thing.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Fine, I want ice cream; I’m getting it.” I take the phone and add two hot fudge sundaes to the cart, an extra large order of french fries, and a salad, just to appease her conscience. I know what she likes. I tap the button and order it.
“It'll be here in thirty minutes. Let’s go shower.”
She heads to the shower, but her shoulders slump. I wonder if her bravado has failed her. Before she gets to the bathroom, she turns and sits on the bed and buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake, and I can't tell if she's crying.
I stare and look at her, unsure of what to do. Adrenaline still surges through me. I haven’t crashed yet.
“Are you all right?”
I don't know what to think of this. I don't know how to help her. I reach tentatively to rest my hand on her shoulder.
This time, she doesn't flinch or turn away, but she also doesn’t answer my question.
“You go first,” she says shakily. “Go shower and I’ll go after you.”
Is she playing me? Is she trying to get out of this room so she can attempt to escape again? I doubt it, but I’m not taking risks either.
I shake my head. “No. You either come with me, or you go alone.”
Her shoulders sag. I want to make it better. I hate that she's distraught, and I know that I had something to do with this.
“You’ll feel a lot better after a shower and some food.”
Finally, with a deep sigh, she gets to her feet. “I guess that’s sensible. I don't know how I feel about you showering in the same room with me. I know we’re going to get married, but I don't trust you. We hardly know each other.”
“I know. I didn't say I was getting in with you. Go. Get in the shower. But I’m not leaving you alone. We're getting married in a few days, Lydia. The sooner we get comfortable with each other, the better.”
“Fair.” She stands and stretches before she starts taking her clothes off. I turn my head away, but her voice arrests me.
“No. We’re going to be married, right? Why turn away? That’s only a waste of time and playing games. This is me. This is what you’re marrying. Let’s see what you think.”
Her voice is hard. Challenging. I stole a woman who’s constructed of sheer fire and ice and should have expected nothing less.
Holding my gaze, she lifts the pretty red top, now wrinkled and smudged, over her head. “I hope that all comes out of this. I would very much enjoy wearing that again.”
Doesn’t matter if it does or not. I’ll get her another. I’ll fucking hire someone to sew her another one if I have to.
She stands in front of me, her full, curvy body making me fucking hard. Maybe I don’t need to bleed anything off. Maybe just watching her is enough for me to let that shit go.
Her blush-colored bra pushes up her full breasts. She’s got the sweetest little dimple in her belly. I imagine laying her down and tonguing it before I taste even more of her.
We’ll get there.
I take a step toward her before I realize what I’m doing. I freeze, her gaze still locked on mine.