Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“I’m going to scope out the place,” Hayes said. “You got her?”
“Yep. Got her.” Corbin gave the man a nod before he slid away into the crowd. “There’s a lot of people here for a pub that doesn’t advertise.”
“Well, not every bar grants wishes,” she replied, turning with her drink in her hand. She moved her mouth to take a bite of Cool Whip. When she glanced back up at him, she had a white mustache.
He couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t want to stop himself. Reaching out, he wiped it off her lip and then brought his finger to his mouth, sucking it clean.
Her eyes widened, her lips parting as she stared up at him. And he knew then that he was going to lean in and kiss her.
It was inevitable.
It was fate.
Until someone jostled into him from behind. He turned with a snarl, and the guy behind him quickly held up his hands.
“Sorry, mate,” he said with an accent. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Hey, there, Bebe. You all right, love?”
“I’m good, thanks, Hopper. You?” Bebe replied.
“Yeah, nah, I’m good.” He waved cheerfully and kept moving through the crowd.
“Yeah, nah?” Corbin asked.
“He’s a Kiwi. It’s a strange saying they have. I still haven’t worked out exactly why they say it like that. And sometimes it seems to mean yes and sometimes it seems to mean no.” She shook her head, smiling at him as she took another sip of her drink.
Fuck. Why did that look so sexy?
Why did everything she did seem sexy?
And how could he get her out of here and somewhere private where he could . . . whoa, client!
Remember, she’s a client.
Corbin sucked in a breath, then spotted something strange over her shoulder.
“What’s that? Why is there a tree in a pub?”
“Um, because it’s the wishing tree, silly.”
“Right. Uh-huh. Of course it is. Because every basement pub on the bad side of town with employees called Shakespeare and Churchill needs a wishing tree.”
“They do when it grant wishes. Come see.” She slid off her chair and nearly fell onto her bottom, her foot catching against the leg of the stool next to her.
He caught her against him, her drink sloshing onto his shirt.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I’m so stupid and clumsy! I can get that stain out. Really, I can. What an idiot!”
Whoa.
Where had all of that come from?
Was she trembling? It spun his head how fast she could go from confident and sassy to scared and unsure.
And it made him wonder why. Who was the real Bluebelle? This reckless, wild girl? The scared, uncertain girl? Or something in the middle?
“Look at me. Look at me, Bebe,” he said sternly, needing her attention.
Her gaze rose from where it had fixated on the stain to meet his eyes. He hated how watery those gorgeous blue eyes of hers were. They should only ever be filled with joy and happiness.
Taking her half-empty glass, he set it aside for her.
“It’s just a stain. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll wash it out or I won’t. No big deal. What is important is you.”
“Me?”
Why the hell did she look so shocked by that?
Urgh.
She made him want to interrogate her until she told him every awful thing that had ever happened in her life. Every person who had hurt her.
And then he was going to hunt them down and make them pay.
“Yes, you,” he said firmly. “You are what is important. Not a damn shirt. Did you hurt yourself?”
“Hurt myself?”
“Yes, Bebe. Try to stay with me here, sweetheart. Did you hurt yourself?”
“When?” she asked, looking bewildered.
“When you tripped just now.”
“Oh. Ohhh. No, that was just me being clumsy. And maybe the jellybean sparkle went to my head.” She gave him a small smile that did little to convince him she was all right.
“All right. Just be careful, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
“Um. Yeah. Sure. Come. Come see the wishing tree.”
To his shock, she grabbed hold of his hand and led him over to the tree on the other side of the room. It really was fake, of course. But it looked amazing lifelike. People were crowded around it and there was an opening in the bark.
“Has anyone ever tried to climb into it?” he asked as they pressed close and he took in the size of the hole.
“Um, I’ve thought about it. But I don’t want the Duke to take my membership, so I decided it probably wasn’t a smart idea.”
Right.
That was the best reason she had for not climbing down a narrow, fake tree.
This is why she needed him. To keep her safe. Not just from outside dangers but from herself.
“This is what you do. You grab a piece of paper.” She picked up a piece of yellow paper and a pen that were on the table next to the tree. “Then you write down your name and your address and your wish.”