Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
“I expect Kennedy will be down soon.” I fold my arms across my chest, not aggressive or anything. Well, not much. “Looking all kinds of gorgeous if I don’t know her.” Which I do, Drewy boy. I know her intimately, know what she tastes like. My chest tightens as I hear footsteps on the stairs. “What did I tell you?” I turn, throwing out my arms like the host of a cheap game show.
“I dread to think,” Kennedy mutters, stepping down from the last stair.
My heart gives a weird little jiggle because she is gorgeous. I mean, she always looks lovely, but this is only the second time ever I’ve seen her in a dress. These days, she seems more like a skinny jeans or baggy shorts kind of a girl. This dress is not the same kind of dress that she wore in Vegas—her wedding dress—which was more like a silky hanky and a bit of chain. This dress is kind of demure. Tiny flowers and little capped sleeves. She’s wearing makeup, her lips pained dark pink. Pussy pink, my mind unhelpfully supplies. Her hair is piled on her head in dark waves, tiny tendrils framing her face, and she’s wearing earrings. And heels. Fuck. Something clinks as she moves, and I notice the small stack of bracelets adorning her slim wrist.
“With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes.”
“What?” Her footsteps falter, her answer hitting the air on an amused wobble. But I see those dark eyes. See the triumph and the interest in them, little love.
“Nothing.” I stick my hands in my pocket and kind of bounce on my toes.
“That was definitely something.”
“It’s just a silly rhyme.” And I’ve no idea where it came from.
“Okay.” Eyebrows riding high, she shoots me the kind of look that says she thinks I’m a total fruit loop. “I guess we should get going.” Her attention turns to Drew, the tenor of her smile becoming something less, dare I think it, intimate.
“You look very pretty, Kennedy.”
I resist the urge to tell him to fuck off because that was a piss poor compliment.
“She looks beautiful,” pipes up my little mate. “My mom would look beautiful wearing a potato sack.”
“Okay,” his mother singsongs, clocking the conspiring look that slides between him and me. “Bed before eight thirty, okay? And don’t forget to brush your teeth.” She presses a kiss on her son’s head. “Give me a call if you need anything, Miss Ursula.”
Urs waves without lifting her head from the screen. “We’ll be fine, dear.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll look out for them.”
“It’s hard to tell who’ll be looking after who,” Drew murmurs, positioning himself between her and me. “Shall we?” He offers her the crook of his arm, but space isn’t wide enough, so she ushers him ahead. I, of course, bring up the rear. And a very nice rear it is, but also, fuck me. She chose this dress on purpose—to torture me. To remind me. Because it’s almost backless. Well, kind of. There’s a circle cut out of the back that makes it very fucking hard to keep my hands to myself.
“Watch Wilder’s shoes.” I point at where they lie tumbled haphazardly on the floor.
“I do know my own house,” she says, turning her head over her shoulder. God, her profile. Those lips.
“I can’t help wanting to watch out for you.”
“I guess that’s nice,” she says, sounding slightly confused
“I'm always watching.”
Creepy. That’s what I expected her to reply. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives in to the shiver. A shiver of pleasure, judging by those dark eyes she turns on me.
At the door, Drew pauses and again offers her his arm. Resting my shoulder against the doorframe, I shove my hands into my pockets. I want to yank her back, shut the door in his face, throw her over my shoulder and fucking hide her somewhere. Instead, I watch as she takes his arm, the fucker shooting me a sly look as the pair turn for the stairs.
“You kids have fun,” I yell as they reach the bottom. And Kennedy?” She turns her head over her shoulder, her brows lowered in anticipation. “Don’t forget to leave space for dessert.”
* * *
“Can we go out in your car again soon?” Wilder looks up from stroking the Brillo pad, I mean dog, called Moose.
“Yeah, little mate. Anytime you like.” I turn to him with an afterthought. “You didn’t mention the kind of car I drive to your mum, did you?”
“No,” he says, canting his head, curious.
“Maybe don’t, yeah?”
“Because it only has two seats, you think she’ll worry?”
“Yeah, exactly that.” Worry I’ve got too much money. Maybe I’m a bit paranoid, but I’ve started to park my car on a side road away from the house. It’s not like I’ve needed it much lately, given the size of Mookatill. And speaking of money, I need to call Jacquie tomorrow because her last email was full of words like breach of contract. It’s fine, I tell myself. I’ve got heaps of time before filming begins. I’m not sure why my gut feels like it’s full of heavy stones. I add a mental addendum to check out whether Wilder is legally allowed to sit in the front passenger seat in Oregon.