Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Was he actually wiggling his eyebrows? And implications were hardly the first thing I was worried about catching from “Dick.” I’d probably start the list with gonorrhea, or maybe just everyday germs. He struck me as the kind of guy who didn’t wash his hands when he used the bathroom.
"Dick's between relationships right now," Richard said meaningfully.
"How... convenient," I managed, reaching for my water glass. Maybe if I drank enough water, I could drown myself before this got worse.
"Very convenient." Dick slid into the chair next to mine, way too close. His cologne was probably expensive and smelled like he'd bathed in it. "You know, I have a suite with an even better view than yours. I'd love to show it to you. The sunsets are... magnificent. Not that you’d be paying them any attention if I had you alone in there."
He actually licked his lips after saying "magnificent."
Disaster alarm bells began to ring. The situation here was painfully clear. Mr. Wellington’s prized son, Marcus, was marrying my sister. Whether it was some kind of rich person fetish, or just a wild idea that had popped into his head, he wanted to keep adding my family to his.
He was hoping to set me up with this walking ball of ick, and I couldn’t think of a single way to shut this down without making things very awkward.
My mind raced with half-baked ideas. I could lie? Lying wasn’t always bad, right? I could claim I lost my ovaries in a tragic car accident back in 1982. No. You weren’t even alive in 1982, Emma! That plan sucks!
Maybe I could say I was the one with gonorrhea? No. Dick probably already has that, and he’d just see it as an excuse to say we already had something in common.
Think, think, think…
Instead of speaking or coming up with any kind of coherent plan, I stared at Dick with my eyes wide and my mouth half-open. I felt the sinking certainty that in a few moments, I was going to get talked into some kind of date, and that I’d have to endure Dick’s advances for the remainder of my time here.
I was about to scream in panic when a familiar voice made my heart stop.
"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart."
Strong hands settled on my shoulders. A pair of lips brushed my temple.
I looked up into eyes I hadn't seen in three years.
James. The wedding wrecker in the flesh.
"Traffic was terrible," he continued smoothly, sliding into the chair on my other side. His arm settled around me possessively. "I hope you weren't waiting long."
I stared at him, my brain short-circuiting between what the actual fuck and holy shit he somehow looks even better than I remembered.
"I don’t believe we’ve met,” Richard said, cocking his head toward James.
“James Carter,” he said, reaching to shake Richard Wellington’s hand.
“Ah, I see. I believe I saw your name on the guest list.” He snapped his fingers, as if trying to remember an obscure detail. “Was it a family friend of Lily’s parents?”
“That’s right,” James said.
"I didn't realize you and Emma were..."
"Together?" James smiled, but there was steel behind it as he looked at Dick. "Very much so. We only started dating recently. Though you wouldn’t guess it with how crazy we are for for each other. Right, babe?”
He planted another kiss on my temple, then brought his lips to my ear. “Might want to release the bomb you look like you’re holding up your ass, or they’re going to see through the lie.”
I was going to kill him.
“Uh, huh,” I managed, smiling.
Yep. He was a dead man. And I was going to do it with my own hands.
Right after I figured out how he got here.
And maybe after I stopped noticing how good he smelled.
And definitely after I figured out why my heart was doing that stupid flutter thing again.
8
JAMES
OOPS…
The single word summed up the last half hour pretty well. From the way Richard Wellington had seemed downright pissed that Emma was supposedly in a relationship, to how he’d snapped his finger and suggested something I was sure Emma was going to hate me even more for.
“This presents the perfect opportunity,” he had said, eyes sparkling with… something. Had that been genuine excitement, or was it thinly veiled anger? I still wasn’t sure.
But he had smiled as he told us about his “opportunity”. “My Aunt Martha wasn’t happy with the views in her room,” Richard had said, “and Emma’s room has amazing views. I’m sure you two wouldn’t mind giving her Emma’s, since the views in hers are superior. That way, you both can cozy up together in James’ room like a proper couple.”
That was half an hour ago, and Emma hadn’t really spoken to me since then. Instead, she was busy storming. She’d walked calmly enough out of the restaurant while we were in view of the Wellingtons, and then she’d practically torn herself off my arm and began embodying the female equivalent of a hurricane, or maybe a tornado.