Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I clear a ball in my throat. “Now you’re probably thinking about my limo birth.”
He takes the earpiece out of his ear. “No, I’m thinking you might regret that I moved in with you.”
My eyes widen. “No,” I say quickly. “No, not at all. That’s not what I feel.” I set my binder aside. “I’m glad that we’re living together.” Panic creeps into my bones. “Do you have regrets about it?”
“No.” He never pauses, so assured that I ease a little. Thatcher keeps his eyes on me while he unclips his radio and tries to dry the device. “Something happened?”
Yes.
I tuck a piece of frizzed hair behind my ear. “I tried to text you that I was on my way to the bar, but none were going through, and I thought I’d just tell you in person.”
His brows draw together. “Tell me what?”
Usually I bask inside the intensity of his gaze, but in this moment, I can’t meet him head-on. I blink and look down at my lap like a cowardly lion. “I’ve never been good at diffusing two sides of conflict—I never could with Moffy and Charlie, and I shouldn’t be surprised that I can’t now.” I speak in a rush. “This past week, I’ve just kept awful things Tony has said to myself, and I thought it’d make your job easier. I wanted to give that to you. I wanted to give you something. But I feel like I’m hoarding secrets from a ride-or-die, and it’s made me quiet around you, and I think you can tell.”
He nods, his muscles tensed.
I ramble on. “And whatever I tell you now could cause friction between you and Tony. It feels selfish to share. But maybe you don’t even want to know; and in that case, we can ignore this conversation and just go about our days—”
“No,” Thatcher cuts me off, which is rare. “Whatever Tony said or did, I need to know. You’re not dealing with that fucking tool alone.” His South Philly lilt fights through. “I hate that you already have been.” He clips his mic to his collar, like he’s seconds from reporting Tony to a lead.
I want to tell him absolutely everything. I want inside his head, and I know he wants inside mine, but in the same breath, what I have to say will just stoke his anger and aggravation towards Tony.
Tell him.
“Okay.” I try to take a readying breath. You can do this, Jane.
Nervous heat builds, and I slip off my leopard coat.
Thatcher stares so hard at my movements, I think he’s going to pop a blood vessel in his eye.
My heart races. “What is it?” I ask.
His gaze darkens on my coat. “Tony shouldn’t have been anywhere under your fucking clothes.” He grips his radio, about to kick into action.
I hold up a pointer finger. “I’m removing a coat. A single article of clothing that is nowhere near a shirt or a bra and has absolutely nothing to do with Tony other than I’m sweating… a lot.” I ungracefully tug and tug at my sleeves to free myself from this heat trap.
Thatcher rubs a rough hand over his face, then he edges closer to help me.
I jerk backwards. I go deadly still, elbow sticking out of my coat.
He stops suddenly.
We both breathe hard. We both stare at each other in binding silence, every inch of space between us slashing at my lungs and heart.
He raises his hands to show me he’s not nearing. “Can you answer me something?”
“Anything.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
I shake my head fiercely, a lump in my throat. “God, no.” I long for Thatcher in ways I’ve never longed for a man. With one more tug, I finally free myself from the fur coat. Cold air barely washes over my burning limbs. “It’s the very opposite.”
He threads his fingers through his wet hair.
I can’t read his hard features. My pulse won’t slow, and I have to ask, “What are you thinking?”
He looks me over. “You keep me on my toes.” He lets out a laugh. “And it’s driving me nuts, and it’s un-fucking-real how much I want you.”
“You have me,” I remind him.
Thatcher nods a short nod, and in a long beat, he looks deeper into me. “When I was your bodyguard and we were fucking, you’d let me help you no hesitation, and now that I’m your boyfriend, you’re frozen.”
My eyes flit down.
Thatcher shifts uneasily. “You’re confusing the hell out of me, and I want to walk with you through this, honey. But I don’t know where you’re going.”
“I want you to hold me so badly,” I admit. I want you to swallow me whole. Fear pinpricks me, and I hate that I’m unwilling to drown in his comfort right now and yet I hate that I want to be completely and wholly consumed by him. “But I feel like I have to stand on my own first.” I cling onto my autonomy by my fingertips, and he’s there, reaching a hand out and asking me to grab hold, to pull me up.