Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Wear a bell or something.” Bianca slaps a hand to her chest and huffs out a breath. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Oh, holy fuck.
My eyes nearly fall out of my head.
The T-shirt I left on the bathroom counter for her is the only thing covering her body. It hits mid-thigh, skimming her curves. Her nipples are hard, poking against the thin material, and I immediately get hard.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot. Her face is bare and fresh. Sleep clings to the corners of her eyes. A soft pink line runs from her temple diagonal to just short of her lips, and I wonder what crease she slept against.
I’m glad she slept. I’m just pissed it wasn’t with me. That it will never be with me.
She raises a cup of coffee and then continues to the guest room. “I didn’t think you were up, or I would’ve gotten dressed.”
“Hard not to be up when you haven’t been to sleep.”
Her steps stutter. She stops, pressing a hand against the wall, but doesn’t turn around. “I didn’t sleep well either.”
Relief gushes from my lungs. It makes me a dick to be relieved she didn’t sleep either, but I can’t help it. It does.
“Landry sent me a text a few minutes ago and asked if you could join us for our meeting this morning,” I say.
“When?”
“In about eight minutes.”
Her shoulders fall. “I might as well. We need to figure out where I will go, anyway.”
My heart falls, too.
“Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll meet you … in your office?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She nods before disappearing into the bedroom.
I stomp down the hallway and into the kitchen. Every cabinet door I open is closed harder than necessary. I slam my finger against the button to start the coffee. I glug the creamer into the mug and accidentally add about triple the amount I like.
But fuck it. Fuck it all.
Every part of me screams not to go into my office. I fight myself every step of the way. This is going to be it—the last moments I’ll probably ever see the woman who I’m certain will be the one that got away, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
My pity turns to frustration, which lends itself readily to anger. Anger at myself. Anger at the world.
I haul an extra chair around my desk, then sit in mine. Bianca comes in just as I find the email from Landry and click the button to join the meeting.
She gives me a measured smile, dropping into the seat next to me. She’s still in my T-shirt. I think she’s put a bra on, though. I’m not sure if she has pants on or not, and the possibility that she’s sitting here with nothing beneath that shirt makes me crazy.
I’m acutely aware of everything about her. The natural, warm scent of her body. The softness of her knee as it brushes my hand. The determination in her eyes can’t hide the disappointment that takes its place when she doesn’t think I’m looking.
“Let’s get this party started,” she says quietly.
Let’s not.
“Good morning,” Ford Landry says.
Other boxes populate, and Jason and Gannon appear on the screen.
“Good morning,” Bianca says.
Oh yeah. “Good morning.”
She shifts in her chair. “Hey, guys. How is everything at home?”
Jason and Gannon sit side by side in the Brewer Air offices.
“It’s going,” Gannon says. “How are you?”
“I’m going.” It’s a joke, but she quickly realizes the truth she inadvertently admitted. Her smile melts off her face. “I’m fine. So what brings us together this morning?”
Landry coughs, picking up a sheet of paper. “I asked you to join us this morning, considering this meeting concerns you.”
“I appreciate it, Ford.”
“We got a piece of intel this morning,” he says. “It seems your father is close with a man named Bobby Downing. Does that name ring a bell to you, Bianca?” Landry asks.
Bianca stills. “Close? I’m not sure I’d say they’re close. But we have done business with him on several occasions. He assisted us with the purchase of the Tennessee Raptors hockey team years ago. Dad also called him when the purchase of the Arrows franchise got stuck in baseball red tape hell. Why? What’s going on?”
Yeah, what’s going on?
Her knee wiggles up and down—an expression of her worry. I reach over subtly and lay my palm on her thigh. She gasps but stills. Then slowly, she lays her hand on top of mine.
The weight of her palm and the heat of her bare skin send a burst of energy straight through me. This is what I’m not supposed to be doing. The fact that I want to do this is why we’re here—it’s why she’s telling her brothers she wants to leave. And maybe that’s why I got ballsy and touched her. Maybe it’s because I know it’ll be the last time I can.