Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
* * *
I tilt my head. “My third week at the club, a husband proposed I join him and his wife for a threesome; I refused, the wife got offended, and sprayed me with a mini-Mace canister she had on her keychain. I looked like a crazy psycho-stripper for the next three hours, my eyes bloodshot and face blotchy.” I grin at the memory, thinking about how close I came to quitting that night.
* * *
I bite my lip, looking at Nathan. “What’s the story on Drew?”
* * *
He leans forward. “Drew was a cop. When Cecile disappeared, I hired him to look for her full time. When I told him about CeeCee—my sister—and her account, he helped to come up with the plan to create a new Candace Dumont, and he was the one who searched for a suitable woman with the correct birthdate. Once we brought you home, he was supposed to keep you under control. To keep you unaware.” He snorts. “A job he failed miserably.”
* * *
He dips a piece of lobster into butter and glances at me. There is something in his eyes, a question unasked.
* * *
I hesitate, wondering if I should tell him, the alcohol in my system pushing me forward. “I slept with him.” I reach forward, grabbing my own piece of lobster. “I feel like you should know that.”
* * *
I expect fireworks, his eyes to blaze, hands to fists, nostrils to flare. Instead, Nathan sighs, settling back in his chair. “Would you like to continue fucking him?”
* * *
I don’t have to think about the question. “No.”
* * *
“So, it’s done with.”
* * *
“Yes.”
* * *
“Good.” He pushes back, his chair sliding a few inches further from the table. “Now, come here.” He pats his thigh.
* * *
“What?” I lift my beer to my lips, and giggle nervously.
* * *
“Candy.” My name rolls off his tongue like silk, I can't argue with that look, the one that has issued so many delicious orders in the past. “I’m not going to do anything. Just come here.” He pats his thigh again, and I stand, setting down my beer and making my way around the table, his arms pulling me down, until I am seated on his thigh. I steal a nervous glance at the rest of the restaurant.
* * *
“Kiss me,” he commands, his hands sweeping up my thighs, and I pin my skirt down with my hands.
* * *
“Nathan,” I chide.
* * *
“Kiss me.”
* * *
I obey, and just the brush of lips reminds me of our chemistry, of the raw need that my body has for him. He takes a second one, then a third, moving off of my mouth and trailing kisses down my neck and onto my collarbone. I laugh, and he squeezes my side, and helps me back up with a groan. “Get back over there before you drive me mad.”
* * *
“Yes sir,” I mock, and his lips twitch, his fingers lingering on my thigh as I stand.
* * *
“I don’t understand - when Candace died, wouldn’t this account go to you as part of her estate?” We walk, hand-in-hand, past a line of yachts, the marina shops filled with tourists. Two kids run by us, shrieking, and we pause to skirt a family of four.
* * *
He grimaces. “She left everything to a local battered women’s shelter. Because this account was unknown to anyone but me, the estate wasn't aware of it. I don't have a problem giving the shelter the ten million dollars I originally owed CeeCee. But the forty mill of interest that I tacked on… he sighs. “I’d like that back.”
* * *
I nod, stumbling slightly on my heels and gripping his arm tighter. “And how does Mark fit into all of this?”
* * *
“You don’t like to sleep alone; I don’t like to be alone. A shrink would have a field day with that—and probably blame it on Cecile’s abandonment. Whatever the reason, Mark handles most of the day-to-day business of the house and handles a lot of the overflow from my job—little errands that I don’t have time to take care of.” He pauses at a trash can tossing in his empty beer bottle. “Ever been in love?”
* * *
I shrug. “Nah. I haven’t really met the right guy. A few crushes here or there. But the last three years haven’t put me in the right situation. Most quality guys aren’t interested in dating a stripper.” I nod in his direction. “Case in point.”
* * *
He winces. “Touché, my wife.” The endearment rolls so easily off his tongue that we both startle at it. Then our eyes meet, and I smile. He leans forward, and with one gentle tug of his hand, pulls me to him for a kiss.
* * *