Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I grab my phone and bend my head down to type a reminder to call the security company first thing in the morning. Cold, hard logic replaces messy emotions, and there’s order in the world once again.
“Luca, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine,” I say, without taking my eyes off my phone. “I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure?” he insists.
“Yeah.” I lift my gaze to meet his and give him a reassuring smile. I feel a lot better now. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of at the clinic.”
Luca
“Luca, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine,” she says. “I can take care of myself.”
As Sarah taps her short, unpainted fingernails on the screen of her smartphone, my gaze is drawn to the black dress that’s clinging to her body, tracing the curves of her seated form.
Nobody could accuse Sarah Ellis of causing scandal at her own brother’s funeral. Her dress is demure. Perfectly appropriate for a funeral.
And yet, I can see hints of the sexy body underneath, and that’s enough to fire up the neurons in my brain with excitement. My mind recalls a certain memory . . .
My rock-hard dick was drilling deep into her naked figure, which was bent over the faux-leather surface of my tattoo table. I wanted her to stop moaning before my neighbors started pounding on the door, demanding we put a stop to our dirty debauchery. I put one hand over her mouth to shut her up, but she sucked my thumb into her mouth instead, and . . . fuck.
I avert my eyes. I’m going to hell for this. It’s my best friend’s funeral, and here I am, ogling his hot sister.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She’s putting on that weird, fake smile again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of at the clinic.”
A security system is the last thing I need. But it seems like there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.
“I’m sure you do,” I say, stepping aside to let her pull the car door shut.
Sarah appears different. Yes, she’s a full-fledged adult now and not the eighteen-year-old who left Ashbourne five years ago. But it’s not that.
She moves like water—not like these damn raindrops, but like a little, clear stream of water flowing serenely over mossy-green rocks, meandering gracefully around lush green fields. She has poise where there used to be self-doubt and awkwardness.
After turning on the ignition, she twists in her seat to wave me goodbye. Her long hair tumbles over her shoulders and somehow rearranges itself into yet another visually pleasant form. She’s just so . . . put together.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. She is a lot like her brother, but unlike him, she doesn’t appear to have given up on life.
I give her a nod, and she smiles before she drives away. I could be wrong, but she doesn’t seem too happy to see me.
I scratch my head.
Ah, women. I don’t know what I did to get her mad, or if she was mad at all. Maybe she blames me for how Peter acted in his last days. Or maybe she just plain doesn’t like me.
Sure, technically, I’m planning to commit a crime in her place of business (and home), but she doesn’t know that. As far as she knows, I’m just trying to look out for her.
I close my eyes, look up at the sky, and let fat drops of water pelt my face.
Don’t worry, Peter. I didn’t expect her to be an easy nut to crack. She’s your sister, after all. I’ll come up with something.
By the time I get home, it's dark.
My clothes no longer sweat rain when pressed, but everything’s damp. Almost automatically, I start toward the bathroom.
But as I peer outside a window, I notice the skies have cleared. There's not even a drizzle, and the streets are quiet because everyone's huddling for warmth at home.
A deep longing jumps to the forefront of my mind and refuses to let go. My feet itch, and my leg muscles recoil in preparation for exertion.
Fuck it, I’m going running. I feel like shit, and that's the only thing that’ll help—if I rule out illegal substances, of course. It's been a while since I had some ecstasy. I’ll bet it wouldn't take much to make me feel like I’m on top of the world.
It's a tempting thought. I know exactly where and how to get any drugs I want.
But years ago, I decided to stop using drugs altogether. I don't even have weed in the house these days. And I limit my use of the three most beloved legal drugs in America: alcohol, nicotine, and caffeine.
I peel my black pants off my legs. It feels good to step out of them, and not just because they’re heavy and sticky with water. They just remind me too much of death. I literally never wear those pants other than to funerals.