Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
His eyes soften, and I quickly look away, quite stunned by my openness. “Her?” he asks.
“Dolly,” I say on a shrug. “We named her after my uncle. His stage name. Zinnea Dolly Daydream.” I expect an unsure smile from him, but instead his heavy brows become heavier. Something comes to me, something that’s been playing on my mind in between all the other shit I’m dealing with. “James, the video you sent me. Of us.” How many are there? How are they stored? How do I express my concern? Ask these quest—
“Just for you and me,” he says, not needing me to ask. “You have my word, Beau.”
It’s all I can expect or ask for, I suppose, so I nod, oddly trusting him on that, and start Dolly’s engine.
Bang!
I jump, alarmed, but my fright is forgotten when James all but dives on me. His arms are wrapped around me like ivy, so tightly, my face buried in his chest. A few seconds pass, me wondering what the hell just happened and James breathing heavily. “Shit,” he whispers, gingerly releasing me and breaking away, refusing to look at me. Is he embarrassed?
“She shouldn’t do that anymore,” I say quietly, studying his profile, his cut jaw buzzing from the force of his bite. “Reg replaced her engine.” But Dolly’s returned shouting habits are not my main concern right now. “Are you okay?”
“She’s loud.” He seems to shake his head to himself, once again assessing the exterior.
“You get used to it.” That’s a lie. For years, every time I’ve started Dolly, I’ve had a mild heart attack. But driving her offers me a comfort that I’ve failed to find anywhere else. Until now.
James nods, thoughtful, and gets himself together, rising, then leaning in and kissing me straight on my lips. It’s chaste. But I still solidify in my seat. “Drive carefully,” he says seriously.
“Are you going to tell me your secret?” My words are so quiet, hardly decipherable. But he hears loud and clear. He nods, but why does it feel like a reluctant nod? Has he changed his mind?
“Tonight.” He shuts the door of Dolly and steps back, giving me room to pull out of the parking space. Except, my feet won’t work, and my brain won’t enlighten me on which pedal does what. I stare at the dash. Tonight.
My forehead becomes heavy, and I grab the lever on the door and wind down the window. “Just fucking,” I reiterate, whether that be for me or him.
“Just fucking, Beau.” He strides off, and with those few words exchanged, James knows I’m not only going to the opera with him because I’m curious. I’m going because . . .
“Oh God,” I murmur, slamming Dolly into reverse and pulling out of the space. “No, Beau.”
I cannot develop feelings for a man.
Especially a man like James.
Which is what? What is James like? Apart from brooding and sexy and a huge fucking comfort?
An enigma. He’s an enigma.
And I want him to stay that way.
30
JAMES
I give Otto the nod when I pass his car, and he pulls out immediately, tailing Beau out of the car park. I get into my Range Rover and stare at the wheel, shellshocked. Not only because Beau might have just unwittingly shared something, but because I am getting wholly obsessed with her. Just fucking. I close my eyes and breathe out. I see me. All those years ago, it’s me. Lost. No purpose. No outlet. I’m giving her an outlet. Not answers, but an outlet.
“Fuck.” My phone rings, and I answer to Goldie.
“The exchange is arranged for tomorrow evening at South Beach,” she says. “A case will be left between two beach chairs. Look for yellow towels.”
“Sounds clean and simple, huh?”
“I thought the same.”
And nothing is ever that clean and simple in my world. I start my car and pull out of the car park fast. “I have a new name for you to search.”
“What?”
“Dolly Daydream.”
She laughs, and I don’t blame her. “Are you kidding? It sounds like a porn star.”
“Not quite.”
“Then what?”
Why all the questions? Fuck me, since I met Beau, it’s all I’m getting. Question after fucking question. “You’re pissing me off a lot lately, did you know that?”
“Fuck off.” She hangs up, and I clench the steering wheel tightly, anger brewing. Because for the first time in forever, I wish I didn’t have to kill a man tonight. And such a perverse headspace is more dangerous than my need to continue my never-ending killing spree.
31
BEAU
As I unload the groceries in the kitchen, I try to pluck up the courage to find Lawrence and claim back the beautiful black lace gown. He’s going to be devastated, and not only because he loves the gown. I put the milk in the fridge and face the door to the hallway, taking a few steps toward it. I can do this. Play it down. It’s no big deal.