Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Not funny.”
Victor’s rarely corny, but for the moment, there’s an enduring spark in the man with the Adonis-carved face and body. He clutches the blazer, letting the rain slick his hair down, jogging around the car to get into the driver’s seat. I guess Victor has a mission that I’ll enjoy this rainy day.
Doesn’t he know it’s him? Not the rain I seek?
The Mercedes purrs to life.
“Good luck,” I snort as he slowly inches back and forth, unwedging the car from the tight spot.
“Can you do better?” Victor challenges.
“Simmer down, Mr. Competitive.” My hand hides silent giggles. An old Caprice is behind him, but the tiny Fiat in front probably came and squeezed them all in. “I can't drive.”
Victor turns a furious scowl in my direction. I combust with laughter. A swirl of butterflies flutters in my stomach. Dr. Finch’s presence is my addiction, my drug.
“I’ll have to teach you one day.” Victor slips from the tight spot only to be stuck in traffic.
“One day?” I arch a nonchalant eyebrow, though my heartbeat has taken an erratic tempo.
“Yes. Who else will teach you, silly?”
Turning in my seat, I watch him. In such a luxurious car, Victor still commands attention. I remember thinking he was a model when we met. The product would never be better than the inhabitant—unless the agents were in the business of selling clones who resembled the alluring Dr. Victor Finch.
“Vic, where are you taking us? We left the rain for the car.” I could sit here and enjoy us inching through traffic forever . . . as long as you’re at my side.
“Don't worry. By tomorrow you will think of rain as cozy again. And even better than that,” his voice becomes steely goodness, “you will think of me then rain.”
36
VICTOR
Although most days call for a downpour in the UK, I never gave the weather much thought. Not until this precise moment. Luxury’s cozy, enveloped in my arm, as we stroll through Central Park with a ghastly purple umbrella she selected from a corner vendor. Wind rustles autumn leaves as my exuberant Little One has assumed the role of educator, sharing the name of various species of flowers and plants. I'm tempted to murder Sidorov and Arnold again. If I could rewind the clock, Luxury would never doubt how precious, how bloody priceless she is.
Serenity sparked eyes catch my gaze. “What are you thinking, Dr. Finch?”
Clutching the umbrella in one hand, I bring her before me, and her tiny palms splay across my chest. A faint drizzle patters on the canopy as she encourages, “C’mon, Vic, open up to me.”
Alright, tosser, tell the chit who you are. That you can give her everything but marriage and children.
Just as I open my mouth to speak, Luxury’s attention averts over my shoulder. Excited, she tugs my arm. “Vic! Look, a rainbow!” The pale colors of reds, oranges, and indigo soar across the sky, projected over a skyscraper off in the distance.
“Kiss me, Vic.” She leans on her tippy-toes.
Enchanted, I drop a ghost of a kiss on her forehead, then I bend down, bringing her innocence flush to my stony body. My lips devour her soft, silky ones. I allow my tongue to delight in Lux’s sweet mouth as my cock stirs to life.
Luxury’s amber eyes declare love without her having to utter a single word. “You’re the best, Dr. Finch.”
I convince Luxury that we need new threads. We end up at a European designer’s store. The greeter knows me by name as this was the first place I visited when arriving in New York. I quickly deter the blonde from calling me Tudor. “Attend to my lady.”
“Yes, sir.”
I start for the men's side of the store when I feel Luxury following me.
“Victor, uh,” Luxury looks down at her clothes, “I’m not that wet. I don’t need―”
Instead of replying, I point to the dress she will wear. The female attendant heads for it.
“Vic, this place is,” Lux squeezes closer, whispering, “expensive.”
“Shall I choose your shoes as well?”
“I don’t need you to impress me. If you’re having money problems,” she hisses beneath her breath.
“Money what?”
“I’m not trying to insult you, but you’re in debt.”
My head cocks. “Well, I bloody am insulted, sweetheart.” I’m worth billions.
“Cut the sarcasm, Victor. You owe five hundred thousand pounds.”
“What are you talking about? Oh . . .” Bollocks, Luxury overheard my call with the contact from X-Member.
“I invest . . .” in failing businesses. Fuck, that might align too close to the truth. Also, it would signify how rich I am. Perhaps, I should take Luxury to England, give her the time of her life there, then share that I’m a royal. Bloody hell, that’s ludicrous. The people treat me accordingly—the blood of the current reigning monarch flows through my veins, after all.
“I, ahem, along with a few others, invest in different research programs, such as the one I was called to review at Greco.”