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 might.”
“Holland is a bad influence. Remind me to buy her a bunch of flowers.”
“Ha, not even. You’re the bad influence, corrupting this innocent.”
“Ah. The last good girl in Vegas. I remember her. She left a while ago and I got this hussy . . .”
“Watch it.”
“And I wouldn’t swap her for a hundred other girls.”
And so we stumble into a nearby room, kissing and laughing. It’s cavernous and dark, though the moon provides enough light to see where we’re going, to see what’s in here. Not a lot, as it happens. Two spindly chairs flank an ornate looking fireplace, a loveseat facing it. Neither look strong enough to withstand vigorous sex. A huge rug covers the floor, art and mirrors hang from the wall, and that’s about it.
“Doesn’t look very . . . comfortable,” I murmur, glancing over Kennedy’s head at our choice of surfaces.
“The window seat,” she whispers, glancing over her shoulder.
“In the window?” I press my lips to her neck. God, I love bold, tipsy Kennedy.
I practically chase her to the window, anticipation balling low in my stomach as Kennedy clarifies quite clearly that she’s running the show.
“Slow your roll,” she says, twisting out of my arms. With a sultry sounding laugh, she presses her hand between my pecs, pushing me down onto the seat. The windowpanes are cold against my back, but that’s not the only reason I shiver.
“Bossy,” I growl, loving every moment of this. Jesus, I feel like I’m gonna explode. Head, heart, the lot! If I live to be three hundred years old, I will never get enough of this woman.
“You wanted to see the specials, didn’t you?” I nod eagerly as she slowly begins to gather the wool of her dress up her thighs. “Well, Sir, I’m sorry to say there is only one special on offer tonight.”
“Oh, I think I’m already sold,” I answer hoarsely as she reveals the tiny pale triangle of her panties. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re about to offer me my favourite ever dish. The dish I could eat every day given the chance.”
She laughs, the sound muffled briefly as she lifts the dress up and over her head. Fuck me, my wife is gorgeous. Skin-tight boots hug her legs, and the lingerie she’s wearing is little more than lacy cobwebs. Through the window, the moon bathes her in its cool glow, her body a contrast of silver and ink. But it’s not even how she looks that makes my heart full. It’s how she is. Who she is. How she raises our son. How she takes care and nurtures those she loves. I might never love her meatloaf or sausage pasta, but I’ll clear the plate that she fills for me because it’s just another way she shows her love.
And, yes, sometimes the plate is only cleared by feeding my dinner to the crows, but that’s not the point. Love is the point. It’s the reason. It’s everything.
“Come here,” I whisper hoarsely. “God, I love you.”
“You love me naked?”
“I love you in your entirety. I love you to infinity.”
“Say it again,” she whispers, coming to stand between my splayed knees.
“I love you. Now kiss me.” I tip back my head only to feel the press of her finger.
“Thank you for finding me, Roman,” she whispers. “Thank you for helping me find myself.”
“Ah, little love, come on. That’s what husbands are for. You know what else husbands are for?” She shakes her head and I crook my finger. “Come closer and I’ll show you.”
“Once upon a time, a handsome man swept me off my feet,” she murmurs, threading her hands through my hair. “He shook me up and turned my life upside down.”
“And now you’re hellbent on revenge, right? You’re gonna put him on his knees.”
If he’s lucky.
“I was thinking I might set him on his ass,” she says, lifting my hands from her hips and pressing them over her naked stomach.
“What?”
“You have such a capacity for love, Roman. I know you’ll have no problem loving a little more. A little more you. A little more me. Another member of our little family.”
“You’re mean we’re gonna . . .? No.” I shake my head, not daring to hope, even as my heart swells. “But . . . champagne? You’ve been drinking buckets of champagne.”