Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving her off. But she was right. I’d come at it all wrong. How could I expect Katherine to want to have a baby when we were in such a shitty place anyway? “We talked about it before getting married, but we’re in a rut. We’re going away for a week, and we can’t seem to do anything but bite each other’s heads off.”
Understatement.
“You want some advice, kid?” she asked as she wiped down the bar.
I laughed. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope,” she said with a smile. “You need to call a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yep. Call a truce with your wife. You need to talk it out, but right now, you’re both too hardheaded to do that. You need to relax and forget about your problems, you know?” She passed me another shot of tequila. “Once you come home, things will be better, and you can talk this shit out. It’ll help.”
I shrugged, uncertain if any of that was true. Katherine would never let me call a truce. I knew her too well. She thrived on arguing and conflict. What would we even be like without it?
“Just think about it,” Monica said as she held up her shot of tequila.
I clinked my shot against hers and then tipped it back. Maybe I’d think about it. Tomorrow. After I got rip-roaring drunk and forgot about everything that had happened tonight.
“Thanks for the advice, Mon,” I said with a head nod. “I’m going to go beat Ricky.”
“Good luck.”
I came to my feet. Wobbling from side to side, I realized how drunk I already was. Well, fuck. This was going to be interesting.
“Ricky, you ready for that game?” I slurred.
He took one look at me and dropped a twenty on the table. “I think I can finally beat you, pretty boy.”
I matched his bet and grinned slyly. No one ever beat me.
Part II
The Truce
9
Katherine
The sound of the elevator dinging open woke me the next morning. Camden had never come home last night. He’d stayed out all night with Fiona. Merry fucking Christmas to me.
I pulled the pillow over my face and screamed into it. Not until I was completely exhausted did I toss it aside and slip out of bed. I couldn’t even handle him right now. I trudged through the bedroom, stripping as I went, and then stepped into the shower.
We had to be at the airport in a matter of hours. I needed to find a way to look fucking presentable. I had to be Katherine Van Pelt today. The cool ice princess of the Upper East Side who never let a goddamn thing bother her. Not the pathetic girl who had stayed up way too late, waiting for her husband to come home.
“Katherine!” Camden called up the stairs.
He could go to hell as far as I was concerned. I ignored him and focused on my beautiful, long hair. I lathered it up with shampoo and then conditioner, taking time to thoroughly rinse it all out. Then suddenly, there was a person in front of the glass shower door.
I screamed on instinct. My heart fluttered as I realized it was Camden standing on the other side of the steamed-up glass door.
“What the hell are you doing?”
But as the words fell from my lips, he pulled his button-up over his head, stripped out of his slacks and underwear, and yanked open the door. My eyes went wide with shock.
“Camden, stop,” I commanded, stepping deeper into the shower.
He didn’t. He stepped into the spray and came toward me, pinning me back against the stone wall. My heart thudded in my chest but not from fear any longer. From that look in his eye. The one that said he wanted me.
His lips crashed down on mine, and his hand slipped over my wet skin. I gasped against him, caught off guard by his need for me. He tasted like whiskey and smoke and unbridled desire. Our bodies collided. His hand jerked my leg up around his hip. His cock pressed hard between my legs.
And then last night flashed through my mind. Me standing there like a fool, watching him walk out of his penthouse. Me waiting up, hoping he’d return. Me finally passing out from exhaustion. Now, he was back after staying out all night, doing who knew what. I might want this—I loved having sex with him—but I was not pathetic enough to accept this.
“Stop,” I said harder this time, pushing against his chest.
He stumbled back a step into the water, soaking his dark hair. His brown eyes were nearly black in the low light. He looked feral and dangerous.
“Where were you last night?” I demanded.
“Out.”
“Not good enough,” I said.
“Katherine…”
“You don’t get to do this,” I told him. “You don’t get to come back like nothing happened.”
“Nothing did happen,” he said, swaying slightly on his feet as if he was still drunk.