Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
But it is.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m doing my best.”
He smirks, making it seem like his mood is a sky, stormy, then clear, then stormy again. He looked pissed not too long ago.
Maybe I’m just terrible at reading him.
And always will be, since nothing can ever happen between us.
“Doing your best includes turning your body into your own personal canvas, does it?”
I laugh softly, feeling a little less nervous—a little.
“Maybe I’m getting a touch obsessed,” I say. “But I figure if I’m not willing to tattoo myself, why should I expect anybody else to let me tattoo them?”
His smirk widens, and he moves closer. It’s like he can’t keep away from me.
Yeah, right, like all six and a half feet of throbbing muscle Silas Stone can’t resist me.
This is reality. I remind myself for what feels like the hundredth time. Not crush make-believe land.
“Have you had any clients?” he asks.
“A few, for some small pieces,” I say, nodding.
“I was….”
He trails off, his expression getting tight like he’s pissed again. I can still feel his arms wrapped around me, his solid forearm pressing against my breasts.
“You were?” I prompt.
“Thinking of getting a tattoo,” he says tightly. “On my back. There’s a free space I’d like to fill.”
I hope I keep my face composed, hope I don’t let him see the effect his words have on me. The thought of him shirtless, lying on his front, his rippling back right there for me to touch, to feel his solid security.
“I’m sure you can find somebody better than me,” I say softly.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he replies.
“You haven’t seen my work yet.” I laugh gently. “What if I ruin you?”
That came out wrong. It makes it sound like I’m going to sabotage his career or something or his friendship and business partnership with Dad. But that’s not how I meant it.
I fumble, thinking of a way to save myself.
But he hasn’t noticed it. Or maybe there was no slip up.
The crush is making me overthink every little thing.
“I’m sure your work is excellent,” he says.
“Why? I could be awful.”
“Would you really cover your body in awful tattoos? No, I think you’ve practiced for countless hours. I think, the first time you brought the needle to your body, you were ready. You strike me as a person who wants to be good at what she does.”
His words rush through me. I’m floating atop them.
“You’re right,” I say, understating it.
It’s more like he’s read my mind.
“I practice a lot,” I tell him. “What were you thinking of having done?”
CHAPTER
THREE
Silas
Just as Lauren asks what tattoo I’m thinking of getting, Buster walks to the edge of the office and pushes through the dog door. It’s a flap, looking seamless, which he’s learned leads to his rest area.
It’s like he wants me and Lauren to be alone.
She’s standing so close, bare inches from me, looking up with her wide youthful eyes…eyes which make me think of them whelming with love as she walks up the aisle, brimming with joy as she holds out our first child.
I imagine her eyes widening even more as I slide inside her body, as I push deep and feel her tightly clinging to my base, as I please her as she deserves.
This. Is. Julian’s. Daughter.
“I’ve got an important anniversary coming up,” I tell her. “I was thinking of getting something to commemorate it.”
“An anniversary?” she says, her tone sharp.
Does she think I mean another woman? Does that make my spunky Lauren jealous?
I have to be careful. I could be reading far too much into it.
When I should be reading nothing.
I have to think of Julian after we made our first million, jumping around, a big grin on his face, his bike gloves still on. I have to remember all those times so I don’t tear them all down with one foolish act.
But it wouldn’t be once. And it wouldn’t be foolish.
It would be the start of everything.
“It’s been thirty years since….”
I escaped, I almost say, but I never talk about that.
Julian doesn’t even know about it.
“My father died,” I go on, which is true. But not the whole story.
“I want to get his headstone, but artfully…with life, hope, with something that gives it meaning.”
She bites her bottom lip, causing me to turn away to look over the city. She wouldn’t make faces like that if she knew the effect it had on me. If she knew how badly it makes me want to grab her shoulders and guide my lips to hers.
“How big would it be?”
I smirk, forcing myself to look at her, knowing this could be dangerous. Reckless, like my entire life has been one stunt after the other.
But when I’m jumping out of a plane, or biking down a mountainside, I’m not risking anybody except for myself.
I’m not risking my best friend.