Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
With my uninjured arm, I drew her to my chest. “My wife stays.”
The ambulance arrived soon after. A paramedic ushered me inside, cutting through my clothes to reach my wound. We both examined it through sober eyes. Shortbread stood beside the open doors of the compartment, growling like a guard dog at any reporter who neared.
“Looks like a shallow wound. I could use some stitches, but it seems like a scrape.” I nudged the paramedic’s hand away. “I can do it myself. I don’t have time to play around at the hospital for hours.”
He dabbed the wound with antiseptic. “Protocol says you have to accompany us to the hospital.”
“Fuck your protocol.”
“You can’t—”
“Are you going to take me against my will?”
“No, but—”
“Then, I can.”
Dallas’s head whipped toward us. “You should get this stitched.” The sheer worry clinging to her voice thrilled me, which was how I knew I was completely and utterly screwed.
“I will. I know what I’m doing.” I hopped out of the ambulance, making my way to our Maybach, where Jared awaited. “Come, Shortbread.”
She looked torn between trying to convince me to go to the hospital and doing as I said. In the end, she seemed to remember her husband answered to no one, not even her, and joined me.
When we slipped inside and I bled all over my leather seat, shirtless, Jared didn’t ask any questions. He knew his place.
Shut up and drive.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Romeo
It seemed Shortbread had a bone to pick. Or in her case—break. I ignored her, striding into my room, still bleeding. She followed the scarlet drops of blood, like Hansel and Gretel chasing a candy trail. In my bathroom, I yanked out a first-aid kit and sanitized the wound again. I’d suffered scrapes worse than this, but it looked nasty.
Dallas hopped on the counter by the sink, cradled her knees, and rested her chin on them, studying. “Need help?”
I dabbed the area dry and pulled out a needle and thread, frowning down at the bicep I needed to sew. “Do you know how to stitch gunshot wounds?”
“No.”
“Then, how do you suggest you help me? Cheering from the sidelines, holding a sign of my name?” She blinked at my harsh words, obviously hurt. Sliding the thread through the needle’s eye, I added, “You may leave now. You did well today. I think we saved the contract.”
“Is that all you care about?”
I ran the tip of the needle along my skin, searching for where it had broken. What a lousy angle to stitch myself from. “Of course not. I also care about the damage they inflicted on Le Bleu. Cara will need to talk to the insurance company and authorities. Bureaucracy is a real bitch.”
“You saved my life.”
“That clown wasn’t going to inflict any serious damage. He was just a kid.”
She hopped off the counter, ducked her head under me to catch my gaze, and palmed my face. “No, he was angry and provoked. You took a bullet for me, Romeo.”
I scowled. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Thank you.”
Since I’d made no progress finding the starting point to stitch myself, I cleared my throat, stepping back. “You’re welcome. Now leave.”
“I want you.” Her hand ran the length of my chest up to my shoulder.
I want you, too, which is why I need you to get the hell away from here. I no longer recognize myself or my actions where you’re concerned. You’ve become a liability I cannot afford.
Rather than kick her out, I set the needle and thread down. “You can ride my thigh.”
“I want to ride your cock.” She teased up the short hem of her olive satin dress. “When you forced me to tag along to Le Bleu, didn’t you say you’ll fuck me if I behave? I behaved.”
“I said I’ll fuck you when you’re on your period.”
“I interpreted that differently.”
“It’s not a Benedict de Spinoza book. It was not open to different interpretations.”
“Whatever. That last time wasn’t so great anyway.” Contrary to her words, her dress inched up, flirting with the border of her lace panties. “It happened so long ago that I don’t even remember much. Was I even there? Were you?”
Egging me on wouldn’t work. Sadly for her, I was more sophisticated than that.
She continued, undeterred. “Oliver told me you’re a born-again virgin. You know your pee pee has other functions, right?”
“Leave, Dallas.”
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she dropped to her knees and began undoing my belt. I leaned on the edge of the sink, powerless to stop her. My fingers curled around the counter.
“I’m going to bleed all over my floor.” A last-ditch effort to stop her.
She pulled out my heavy, engorged cock. Her fingers circled it all the way without touching. I loved how tiny she was compared to me. How unlikely a pair we were. How people must’ve wondered how I fit into her. The delicious answer, by the way, was barely.