Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Stop concentrating on how hard your head is thumping.” Unconsciously, I run my thumb over his furrowed brows. “Think about anything else. My breathing. The flutter of the air conditioning vents. The splashes of the ocean when its lolls rock you to sleep.”
We didn’t have much to our name when we began dating, but we had a little safety boat that hung several feet above the ocean on the cargo ship the Bobrovs recently purchased. We ate picnics in it and made love on the hard, rusty floor. We even spent a handful of summer nights out there, watching the stars while hiding from the men transforming the insides into a luxury vessel.
It was a little hidey-hole that was solely for us, and I loved it almost as much as I did Alek.
I tried to replicate some of the memories on the boat towed behind Tommaso’s yacht. The glossed wooden benches and unfamiliar smells killed it. Not to mention the three little terrorists who found me no matter where I hid.
I wasn’t Tommaso’s love interest. I was his children’s vacation nanny. When his regular nanny took holidays, I stepped in to help. It sounds luxurious until you realize a nanny does every horrible task a parent doesn’t want to do. The teeth brushing, butt wiping, and endless amounts of homework. And let’s not mention trying to make children follow their vegan parents’ lifestyle choices.
It wasn’t a fun time, but it hurt less than my last week in Russia, so I stuck with it until my father’s begs assured me he wouldn’t see the year out alive.
He owes too many people too much money, and now Alek is on his list as well.
My father was too hungry to realize he couldn’t eat the food Alek had delivered. He scarfed down packet after packet of sweets before bringing them up in the shower that once again has hot water thanks to Alek’s generosity. The gas ran out a month ago, but I didn’t have the money to pay the bill, so I either showered at work or in the middle of the day so I wouldn’t freeze to death.
When I notice Alek’s breathing is leveled and the rapid movement under his eyelids has settled, I drop my thumb from his brow and drink in the features I never thought I’d take in again.
He should have aged since I left him, but only the faintest wrinkles line the corners of his eyes. His dirty blond locks are devoid of a single gray hair, and despite his affirmation that your nose never stops growing, his is still the perfect size for his mannish face.
He hasn’t aged a day, and I should hate him for it. But I just can’t.
I hate what he represents not the man he is.
“Stay,” Alek murmurs on a whisper when the thought of sneaking out creeps into my head. When I flinch, he pops open one eye that’s still displaying how much pain he’s in before he mutters, “After all this time, I can still read your thoughts.”
Then read this, asshole. You’re a jerk!
He chuckles, making me screw up my nose like a rabbit.
His laughter dies down as quickly as it reaches his ears. “Fuck. That hurts.”
Without thought, I return my head to my share of the pillow, then my thumb to his brow. “I’ll stay for an hour, but then I need to get back to work.”
“An hour works. I can handle an hour.”
His lips quirk at one side when I mutter, “You won’t be saying that when you get the bill.”
“It’ll be worth it.” He tightens his grip around my waist before he eventually falls asleep.
I succumb to the rhythmic beat of his heart not long after him.
By the time I wake, the sun is up, the strip club is empty, and so is the bed I’m suddenly praying had its sheets changed before Alek arrived. I’m so anal about clean sheets—I lost everything because of them.
Jax’s wolf whistle is too piercing for the early hour. “You look better than I expected. I’ve been in this industry for eight years, and I’ve yet to witness an all-nighter.” He waits for me to join him near the empty bar before asking, “Was he good? He has gigantic hands, and you know what they say about big hands. Big hands, big—”
“Socks?”
He shushes me by throwing the receipts he’s bundling into my face. “It rhymes with sock.” While gathering up the mess he made, he asks, “Direct deposit or cash?” I peer at him in shock, but he must miss it because he keeps rambling on, “Cash requires a ten percent surcharge. Something about no bank fees. Normally, you wouldn’t notice it, but for an all-night gig, you’ll feel the pinch.”
My eyes bulge when he spins his calculator around to face me. “Are those my earnings?”