Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
She nudges my foot with hers. “You would be, but not because my dad knows you. Or not just because of that. I’ve never had a serious adult boyfriend in New York before; let alone a man I can’t get enough of.” A hint of uncertainty flashes in her gaze. “Should I have kept that last part to myself? Played it cool?”
“Never,” I assure her, threading my fingers discreetly through hers. “I love knowing you want me even half as much as I want you.”
She bites her lip and suddenly the day isn’t a complete disaster. I failed with Adrian, but what else is new? I can always try again. Hopefully, my son heard how much I love him and want to support him, as well as my words of caution, and he’ll remember them when the time is right.
But in the meantime, I get to spend more time with this amazing woman. “Come home with me?” I ask. “Let me feed you something fantastic for lunch and tie you to my headboard?”
She smiles and her voice is pure auditory foreplay as she whispers, “Tie me up first and feed me after, and you’ve got a deal. I don’t want to wait for the fun part.”
“Yes ma’am,” I murmur. “I promise, I’ll never make you wait.”
She gives my hand a squeeze before rising to her feet. “I’ll grab a cab and meet you there in fifteen or twenty?”
“I’ll take the subway and see you there,” I say, my gaze raking up and down her frame as she backs away, devouring every inch of her with my eyes.
Soon, I’ll have my hands on her, my mouth…
Despite my worry for Adrian, I can’t help feeling like the luckiest man in New York. The feeling lasts until I reach my apartment building twenty minutes later to find a woman in a dramatic palm-print dress and a giant straw hat pacing in front of the door.
It’s Angela, my ex, and she’s clearly heard the news.
twenty-five
SYDNEY
There’s an open manhole on Fifth Avenue and a street festival blocking the alternate route my driver tries on the way to Gideon’s place. It takes nearly twenty minutes to get to Twenty-First Street, where I finally decide to get out and walk.
I expect Gideon will already be upstairs when I arrive, but…he’s not.
He’s standing under the restaurant awning next to his building’s entrance, in a heated conversation with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s nearly as tall as Gideon and slim, but with the tanned, toned arms of an athlete. Her dress and hat are clearly designer originals as is her chunky jewelry. The bracelet and large necklace bring out the silver streaks in her long brown hair, but the gray doesn’t age her. It adds to her exotic, artsy vibe.
I’m instantly intimidated.
If this is the kind of woman Gideon usually dates, what the hell is he doing with me?
Yes, I have the money to buy expensive clothes—I have several suits in my closet that, even on the resale market, could pay my rent for a month—but I’m one of the least fashionable people I know. Sure, I enjoy dressing up now and then, but I’m happiest in athletic wear and whatever gear I need to stay warm and dry out in the wild. I’m a person who enjoys looking out at the world more than gazing at my own reflection.
But this woman clearly puts in the time in front of her mirror. Her makeup is subtle but perfect, from her dewy complexion to her contoured cheekbones and full, berry-stained lips.
I shift into the shelter of the awning of a nearby makeup store, wondering if I should duck inside. I’m wearing mascara, as usual, since my blond eyelashes are invisible without it, but I was in such a rush to get to Gideon, I didn’t bother with anything else.
Besides, he’s seen me without makeup and didn’t seem to care, one way or the other. I figured he was an outdoorsy guy who wasn’t into fashionista women.
But maybe I was wrong…
He and this glamorous human have history, it’s there in every tense line of their bodies and the ease with which they shoot verbal darts back and forth. They clearly aren’t friends anymore, but they’re…familiar.
And this woman is familiar to me, too, I realize as she turns with a dramatic flail of her arms, sending her skirt swirling around her legs. The pose is just like a picture Adrian had on his bookcase back in college. It was a black-and-white photo of a gorgeous woman with long brown hair, swirling in a black dance dress while a naked toddler—Adrian—ran in a giggling blur through the front of the shot.
This must be Angela, his mother.
My hunch is confirmed a moment later, when Gideon brings his phone to his ear and my cell starts to ring.