Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Yes, the Last Chance Gas Stop v. Geraldine’s Boobs is going straight to the Supreme Court. I’m not going to allow our personal relationship to influence how I try that case in any way. Are you saying you can’t do the same?”
He was challenging her. She knew and she still couldn’t resist. There was something inside her that couldn’t back down when tested. “Oh, Quaid, if I decided I wanted you, it wouldn’t matter. I could sleep with you wrapped around my body, kiss you good-bye in the morning, demolish you in court fifteen minutes later, and you would still do whatever you could to get back into my bed that same night.”
Now his hands moved to her hips, his mouth barely hovering over hers. “And I promise that when I crush you in court, I’ll make sure to soothe your wounded ego by buying you dinner and taking very good care of you.”
She moved to bring their lips together because this was inevitable. This might be fate, and there was nothing she could do about it but give in and enjoy the ride while it lasted. It was foolish, but she wanted him, wanted everything he’d promised her.
Except the beating-her-in-court thing. That wouldn’t happen, but he would find her a gracious winner. Mostly.
His cell phone trilled, a sound that seemed to blast through the room. It was a phone call, ringing loudly.
It was a wake-up call.
“Damn it.” Quaid stepped back, reaching for his phone. “I’m sorry. That’s the tone I use for the sheriff’s office. I have to take this.”
She nodded, stepping back from the precipice. Quaid spoke low into the phone while she realized how close she’d come to jumping on him and throwing away all semblance of sense and decorum.
Quaid’s jaw was tight as he turned around. “I have to go down to the station. I’ll be back in a little while. Take the room closest to the bathroom. You should get some sleep.”
“I can come with you.” If he was meeting with the sheriff, it was likely because someone had been thrown in jail. She could help with the paperwork that came with bailing someone out.
He shook his head, all warmth gone. “No. You stay here. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Does Luna have food?”
“She already ate but I’ll have to get more in the morning.” She’d left a lot behind that she would have to deal with.
“I’ll get some from the station house.” He reached for his jacket. “They always have extra. Roxie and Armie bring their dogs in all the time. Feel free to use anything you need. There’s toiletries in the bathroom and snacks in the kitchen. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Is everything okay?” She hated him leaving like this. Something was obviously wrong.
“Everything is perfectly normal. Exactly the way I thought it would be,” he said, and walked out.
Well, it wasn’t normal for her. Not at all. She was supposed to be focused on herself, on fixing her problems, not taking on his.
And still she moved to the window and watched him get into his car, watched him pull away as the rain beat down softly on the windows.
Luna moved beside her, resting her head down on the windowsill as if she, too, was disappointed Quaid had left.
Jayna took a deep breath. It would be damn near impossible to sleep after the day she’d had. Despite the deep weariness she felt, her mind was still going over and over the fight she’d had with her mom. She would sit up all night thinking about what she was going to say to Sienna in the morning. The last thing she was going to do was give up on her sister. No matter what her mom said.
Her best—and worst—distraction was gone now, and she seriously doubted he would show up anytime soon and want to pick up where they left off.
But he had a lot of books. There were bookshelves on either side of the window, and unlike the shelves downstairs, these weren’t lined with scholarly legal tomes. She glanced through the titles. There were classics and then there was row after row of mysteries and thrillers.
Quaid Havery liked to read. She wouldn’t have guessed it. He hadn’t been interested in school when they were kids. He’d been into sports, and she’d been the kid with her nose in a book. But she would bet these were his books since she recognized some recent bestsellers.
She ran her fingers over the spines of books by Agatha Christie and David Baldacci and Gillian Flynn. He seemed to love Grisham. He had all of his books in hardcover.
And then there were several bound books, but these didn’t have names on the spine. They were bound in plain black, like the legal papers she used to have assistants bind together.