Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Again she held his stare. Niamh rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bar, watching them. Power coiled between them as if they were two rams gearing up to butt heads. This time, after Aurora finally turned away, Broken Sue softened his tone.
“I understand wanting independence,” he told her, “but the timing isn’t right for solitude. If you want to see the world away from your family, pick a partner on the team to go with you.”
“Like who?” she asked. “Who’s going to allow me to let my hair down without running to my uncle and telling him what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with?”
Niamh’s grin spread as Broken Sue’s eyes darkened. That had thrown him for a wee loop.
He didn’t speak, and Aurora nodded slightly.
“Exactly,” she said.
“Bollocks,” Niamh said as the barman returned with the Woodford, lifting the straight-up shot until Broken Sue pointed at the bar in front of him. The barman delivered Aurora’s before turning to get Niamh’s next cider, always instructed to fill the empty glass. Two other people down the bar were waiting for their turn to order. It didn’t hurry the barman in the slightest. “If ye’d take the lessons I’m tryin’ ta feed ya, ye could hop around the bars with me. Tristan would keep yer secrets, no problem. And if it’s a little fun ye’re interested in, ye don’t even need to leave yer room. The gargoyles would come to you. Line ’em up and take as many as ye want. They don’t mind. They’re happy to share. It’s only this great lummox who’s a spoilsport. Steer clear of him. Bad news. This is what I meant about baggage. Too much of it, if ye ask me. Way too much. And his stare is much too loud. It deafens me.”
“Okay.” The barman was back, setting down the bottle of cider. “Oh, right. Ice.”
Broken Sue lifted his glass slowly, staring into Niamh’s face. He was so easy to rile up now that she knew his buttons. At least the pressure was off Aurora.
FIFTEEN
Austin
“Do you have an apron?” Austin asked Camila.
He didn’t like the frame of mind Jess was in. Being here, she was clearly reliving old horrors. He knew what that was like, having done his fair share of it recently.
This situation was a little different, though. Jess had clearly been conditioned to act and react in a certain way in that relationship, living with a monster dressed in a businessman’s clothing. She’d been stuffed into a box of expectation when she was young and manipulated and emotionally abused into staying there. Austin could see the signs.
Camila was walking down the same path: younger, impressionable, and now financially dependent as a stay-at-home wife. Austin would bet Matt would knock her up soon to trap her in. This guy had a system. A system that clearly worked.
It was hard to stay back and let that man talk to her so disrespectfully, but this was something Jess needed. She was struggling to throw off the chains of her Jane conditioning. She would, though. She’d snap and assert herself. When she did, the explosion would be epic. That was when Austin would lean in and seal this dude’s coffin. Not before. He wouldn’t deny Jess her glory.
For now, he would show Camila what a real man was like.
“An…apron?” Camila randomly walked to the oven, flustered.
He opened his arms and looked down at his dress shirt. “Food splatter is hard to get off.”
She breathed out a small, nervous smile. “True. Good point. Um…” She opened the pantry door and lifted one of the aprons hanging on the back. “It’s…kind of feminine.”
“My masculinity isn’t so fragile as to be threatened by an apron.”
He waited patiently while she pulled out a white apron with black stencils of high-tea tables and candelabra and English-style cottages. The bottom was a little ruffled, like a skirt, the design incorporating black lines in what looked like an homage to a French maid mini-apron. It also had a large black bow accentuating the right hip. It was really cute, actually, and if Jess were wearing it without any clothes underneath, it would be incredibly sexy. Given she wanted to learn how to cook (in a fun and loving environment), he had a feeling this would be a perfect gift.
“I had to…” Camila, face tinged crimson, undid a knot she’d tied at the top to make it hang properly.
Raised voices drifted from the front room and raw emotion rolled through the bonds—anger and surprise and frustration and misery.
He took a deep breath as he pulled the apron on and tied it around his waist. “The contour is a little lost on me. I think this was made for people with hips.”
Camila laughed, her face redder now. “Yes, I think so. I just… If I’d known you would be cooking, I would’ve gotten—”