Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
And because I was shit scared.
“And since I haven’t fallen in love with a Yank or at the very least bewitched him with my pussy in order for him to marry me and give me a Green Card, I’m outta here in a little over ninety days,” I finished.
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding, drowning out the thumping bass of the sound system. My mouth was dry from the salt around the rim of my margarita.
It was then that I looked at Kip. He was no longer regarding me with his familiar teasing, probing gaze. He looked much more serious than I’d seen him. Ever.
This expression was almost… handsome. If that were an appropriate thought to have at this juncture. Which it wasn’t.
“Three months, then you’re out?” he asked, voice rumbly and deep.
I nodded once. “Yep. Again, unless I trick a man into falling in love with me or, at the very least, thinking I’m worth committing fraud for,” I scoffed, shaking my head.
It was a joke, of course. Not because of the whole fraud thing. That didn’t bother me overly much. No, it was more the marriage thing. I’d made a vow to never commit to holy matrimony with someone ever again.
The mere thought of it made my blood run cold.
Marriage was my only option to stay in the country at this point. And that wasn’t even an option.
“I’ll do it,” Kip said. “I’ll marry you.”
I jumped at his voice, having forgotten he was still sitting beside me. I blinked rapidly, focusing on him, trying to find his smirk.
There was none.
“You’re fucking with me.” I rolled my eyes. “Good one.”
Kip and I had traded jabs since pretty much the first time we’d met. This was as far as our relationship went. We didn’t like each other. Me because he was a womanizing asshole with no depth, him because I didn’t want to fuck him.
It made sense that he’d capitalize on my shitty situation.
The prick.
“I’m not fucking with you,” he replied, still sounding serious. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you so you can get your Green Card.”
I squinted at him. I must’ve been drunker than I thought. “Fuck off,” I muttered, turning my attention to my drink.
There was pressure at my chin. It came from Kip’s fingers grasping it, turning it so I was once more looking at him. His face was closer to mine than I remembered. His eyes glinted with an intensity I didn’t recognize.
Inexplicably, my pussy seemed to appreciate it.
Damn it. I’d gone so long without sex that I was getting turned on by cocky assholes.
“I’m not fuckin’ with you,” he said quietly. “You’re important to Nora. Rowan is important to me. Whatever hurts her hurts him. And when he’s hurt, he’s like a bear with a splinter. I don’t want to have to be around that grumpy bastard day in and day out.”
I stared at him. “You’re saying you’ll marry me because you don’t want to deal with Rowan being in a bad mood?” I clarified.
“Partly,” he agreed. “Also, I haven’t been in a position to help someone out in a while. Definitely not a woman with fear painted all over her at the prospect of returning home.” His jaw clenched. “Know a thing or two about that.” He let me go, thankfully, because then I could breathe again.
His easy smile returned, and he tagged his beer from the bar, standing. “That’s my offer, sweetheart. Take it or leave it.” He winked. “You know where to find me.”
Then the asshole sauntered off.
“Over my dead body,” I called to him as he walked away.
I found myself at Kip’s house two days later.
Two fucking days.
That’s how long my resolve lasted. That’s how long I spent exhausting every other possible option. There were no other options. Except go home.
Which wasn’t an option.
I was left with two choices. Both of them things I’d promised myself I’d never do.
I picked the lesser evil.
Or so I thought.
Kip grinned when he answered the door. Grinned. Like he’d been fucking expecting me.
That made the whole thing worse.
I almost turned on my heel and left right then.
Almost.
“Hey, baby,” he drawled, beer bottle dangling from his left hand.
“Ugh,” I groaned, pushing past him, snatching the beer as I went. “Don’t call me baby.”
His laugh followed me down the hall.
His house was small. Had a nice exterior, but inside it looked exactly what it was—a bachelor pad. It smelled of bacon and beer. The kitchen had a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink. The living room to the left boasted two leather couches, a stained wood coffee table, and a TV that was laughably large compared to the entertainment unit it was precariously perched on.
“Not a good way to start the marriage,” Kip teased as he walked through the kitchen, opening the fridge to retrieve himself another beer.