Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Yeah, that was supposed to be my fitting, but François spent more time oohing and aahing over those shoulders and that ass of yours.” We share a grin, fingers locked and caressing. “I knew François would have a ball with a strapping fellow like you.”
“I’m not sure I like the term ‘strapping,’” he says. “Makes me feel like Paul Bunyan.”
“That sounds about right.” I laugh.
“You should see my father. He’s taller than I am.”
“Good grief. How tall?”
“Six seven.” He shakes his head, a smile creasing his handsome face. “And my mom’s a little bitty thing.”
He hesitates, studying our hands before looking back up at me.
“I’d love for you to meet them.”
Gulp. What? Walsh is the only man I’ve dated whose parents I met, and I “met” them at birth. They were my godparents. I don’t do parents.
“Um…wow. I don’t know. Maybe someday.”
“What about Thanksgiving?” His eyes stay steady on my face, but I feel his fingers tighten around mine. “Based on where things stand with your parents, I wouldn’t trust you with a carving knife around them. Doubt you’ll be eating turkey at home.”
“Yeah.” I smile so stiffly it feels like a cramp across my lips. “Especially not after my mother’s latest statement.”
A reporter asked her about my involvement with Kyle Manchester fifteen years ago. Mother recalled me as “troubled” and emotionally unstable during that time. She said I acted erratically, abandoning my college plans and moving “on a whim” to Milan. She also added that I was under a psychiatrist’s care around that time.
Yeah, after Kyle raped me I changed my mind about college and saw a therapist for two years trying to recover. My mother would distort and use that information against me.
“Sof?” Trevor brushes his thumb over my cheekbone, luring me away from my thoughts and back into the conversation.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said so why not spend Thanksgiving with my family?”
“That’s in less than a month, Trevor.” I pull my fingers away from his to toy with a zipper on my skirt. “We haven’t been…well, we’ve only been…”
“Dating?” He leans forward, eyebrows lifted. “Is that the word you’re searching for?”
“I guess that word will do.” A nervous grin plays across my lips. “It’s just…am I really the girl you want to bring home to mama right now? I’m freaking notorious, and I bet your mother teaches Sunday school.”
“You called it.” He chuckles, taking my fingers back. “Every Sunday for twenty-five years.”
“You don’t think she’s read all the stuff Kyle’s campaign has said about me?” I melt into the leather seat at my back, shame slinking through my belly at the thought of Trevor’s churchgoing mother knowing all my exploits.
“I think she knows her son.” He tips up my chin, plumbing my eyes. “She knows I’m not a fool, and that I’m an excellent judge of character.”
“Maybe you’re having a lapse of judgment.” My harsh laugh cuts into the air between us. “I’ve been known to have that effect on men before.”
“What have I told you about comparing me to them?” Irritation thins Trevor’s full lips. “I don’t care who you’ve been with before. You’re with me now.”
Every time I think I can get lost in this thing with Trevor, something reminds me that he deserves better. Avoiding blogs and working from home for a few days hasn’t made my problems go away. And so far, no one else has stepped forward with allegations against Kyle. So it’s just me, hanging out to dry, making a stand that might not even do any good. That might just leave my life in ruins, but not fix anything.
“I want you embedded in my life, Sofie.” Trevor’s fingers tangle in the hair at my neck, telegraphing tingles across my scalp. “And I promise you I’m going to be embedded in yours. Nothing will shake me loose.”
He kisses me, sending his tongue diving deep, invading, marauding, taking his pleasure, all along the way giving me more than I think my body can withstand. This pleasure, this special brand of pleasure, is wrapped in tenderness, spiked with care, and lined with an emotion I’m afraid to name. Even when he moves to pull away, my lips cling to his. My hands hold his face so I can greedily take more, savoring him, savoring these moments because something this good can’t last. Not for me.
“We’re here, darlin’,” he whispers against my lips. “I just need to grab a few things from my office, and then we can head back to your place.”
I look at the Brooklyn brownstone I haven’t been back to since he left for South Africa. I know Harold and Henri are back. I’m still smarting from the disapproval that bloggers, Kyle’s supporters, and the media dish out virtually. I don’t need an in-person dose from Trevor’s assistant.
“I’ll wait here.” I reach down for my iPad, setting it on my lap.