Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
My whole body locked up tight. “Are you saying I should cooperate with this prick?”
“Hell no!” Her fingertips curled against my chest. Her palm was no longer a blockade to stop me, but a tether holding me close. “But that’s exactly what you’d be doing if you go out there right now. He’s on public property and can take whatever pictures he wants no matter how invasive we think they are. Technically, he’s not doing anything wrong.”
“Bullshit. What he’s doing is wrong in every way. He may not be breaking any laws, but if he’s going to pull a stunt like this, he better be ready for me to break a few.”
“That’s what he wants though. We have to ignore him. Even just telling him to fuck off gives him soundbites to use. You losing your cool is not going to solve anything.”
“It would sure as hell make me feel better though.”
She sighed. “Yeah, it would make me feel better too, but that would only be temporary, and whatever he gets on you will be forever. He wants a piece of you, but he can’t take it unless you give it to him. Don’t give him this.” Her hand slid up my chest, and when she spoke, it was the sound of my every nightmare—and my sweetest dream. “Please, True.”
Her calm iced the rage in my veins. It felt like an out-of-body experience as I stared down at her. Gwen. My Gwen. Her hand on my chest, standing in front of me, my name tumbling from her mouth as if it had been created for no other purpose.
Thousands of days had divided us. Hell, we’d spent more time apart than we ever had together. But in that restaurant with her, it was as if time had collapsed in on itself, seamlessly connecting the past to the present.
God, I’d missed her.
Resting my hands in the curve of her hips, I pulled her toward me. It was only an inch, but my body roared for the whole mile. It didn’t help matters that her eyes heated as they flicked to my mouth. And worse, she arched her back, brushing her full breasts across my chest.
I was not strong enough for that kind of temptation. Or honestly, smart enough, either, because I wasn’t positive the temptation went both ways. When it came to the fine art of reading a woman’s body language, I was grossly out of practice. For all I knew, the heat in her eyes was a burning desire to slap the shit out of me and the arch of her back was a wince of pain from when I’d tackled her out of the booth.
Jesus, how was my dumb ass considering making a move after that giant cyclone of fuckery?
I forced myself to release her. “You’re right. I won’t kill him.”
The joy I felt as her eyes dimmed when I stepped away would have landed me the role as CEO at Asshole International.
I fucking loved that she felt it too. Whatever it was between us, the pull, the need, the desire. It was still there. And with that knowledge, my smile was so big I was going to have to ice my face when I got home.
Misinterpreting my grin for mischief, she shot me a scowl and added, “You also can’t punch him, or kick him, or egg his car, or—”
“Hey! I have never egged anyone’s car, thank you very much.”
She arched a scolding eyebrow. “Or shoot a potato through his window, or put a snake in his toilet, or put Nair in his shampoo, or duct tape his boots to the ceiling right before an inspection, or sneak laxatives into his coffee, or—”
“Okay, okay!” I lifted my hands in surrender. “Do you forget anything?”
“Not after as many times as I listened to you and Nathanial repeat the same stories over and over again.”
Nathanial.
Nutz.
Fuck.
Another flash came from outside, the light punctuated by the sound of Gwen’s palm slapping over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she mumbled from behind her hand before lowering it. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you don’t like to talk about him—or any of them.”
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Especially in the beginning when I’d still raked myself over the red-hot coals with my every breath. However, therapists were relentless and eventually forced me into discussions. Nothing pissed me off more than the old convo starter of, “Tell me about the men you lost.”
I didn’t just lose men.
I lost my best friends.
I lost my family.
And then I lost myself.
It had taken years for me to see past my grief. I didn’t get over it, or forget, or even learn to live with it properly. I simply put a plan into action to control it so I didn’t drown in the sea of self-loathing. Once a week. One hour. Total earth-shattering despair. And currently, I was even failing with that.