Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Which I ignore.
Minutes tick by and a car honks.
Voices follow. Spanish words.
The sound of the electric gates gliding open.
More talking, then a shout as Leo calls something across the garden.
Anticipation tumbles through my insides when I glance at the open windows and pull a face. They might be a bit too obvious. A quick tiptoed dash across the room, and I rectify that, my butt thumping down on the bench just in time as footsteps out in the hallway match the tattoo of my heart.
I close my eyes and bob my head, pretending to be lost in the music.
“Lavender?”
Count to three—no, make it five.
I sense the door widening and open them as Raif steps inside. “You’re dressed?”
No flies on you, mate. I bite my tongue against that sarcasm. “There you are.” A flutter of my thick, blackened lashes a little, I paint on a smile. “Sorry, were you going to bed?”
“You’re obviously not,” he says as he takes in my outfit. My bare legs, bare shoulders, my not quite bared breasts. I feel every inch of his perusal.
And it is heavenly.
By the way…
“I’m going out tonight.” More head bobbing. To coin another of Taylor’s lyrics, I fucking shimmer. Also, I polish up. Nice.
The music lowers suddenly. “There’s a cab outside waiting for you. Care to tell—”
“Fab!” I jump up and slide my purse from the bench. Fab? Marriage has turned me into one of those women who say that unironically. “I must’ve missed the app’s notification.” A couple of swaying steps toward him, and I tip up on my toes, sliding my hand around the back of his neck with the intention of bringing his cheek closer to my lips. “Don’t wait up.” My words sound perky, my lips not quite meeting his skin as his fingers slide around my wrist.
“Out where?”
“Just out.”
“I’ll say it again. Where?”
Five words delivered in five beats, his eyes burning like coals.
My insides flip deliciously. I thrust my hands behind me to stop them from going rogue. Touching him up isn’t part of my play.
“I’m going dancing with Tod if you must know.” I give a provocative tilt to my head. “Like my dress? Maybe you can give me your opinion on the faux fur stole I have to go with it,” I say, tugging at the top of the bodice. “The dress is nice, but the stole elevates it to this whole mob wife vibe.”
“Mob wife?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing. Only, it might be too warm to wear it,” I add as though disappointed.
He gives his head a shake, not like he disagrees. More like disbelief. “You won’t need to dress up like a mob wife because if you go out dressed like that, you’ll find yourself married to a criminal. Because I’ll murder Tod and make it look like a fucking accident.”
“That’s funny, but I have a cab waiting.”
“You had a cab waiting.”
“That’s bullshit!” I announce, channeling my teenage self. I try to tug my arm from him. No bueno. My blood heats instantly, my temper with it, even if this, or something like this, was my aim. “Fine. I’ll get an Uber,” I say, twisting away. He lets me go, and my heart bangs like a steel drum as, my back to him, I pull out my phone. “Hey!” I complain as he whips it from my grip, tossing it onto the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not your prisoner,” I retort. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I can.” I back up two shuffling steps as he crowds me. “Under this roof, my word is law.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, Dad.”
“You want to play that game, princess? Fine, I’ll put you over my fucking knee.”
Conflicted. So conflicted. The images that flash through my head? Ten out of ten. My body draped over his. His hand sliding. A reprimanding sharp sting. Only… I once overheard Whit and Mimi playing this game. And that’s a lady boner killer right there.
“Not tonight, thanks,” I answer belatedly, flouncing past him. “It’s not like this is a real marriage,” I toss over my shoulder as I reach for the door handle. “And even if it was—”
His palm slams the door shut.
“This marriage is very real,” he grinds out, hauling his arm around my waist. His front pressed to my back feels hot, hard, and way overdue.
He whips my clutch from my hand. From the sound, it lands on the velvet bench. “Today is not a good day to test your luck.”
“My luck? My luck ran out the day I met you.”
It’s his turn to laugh now. Such a bitter, unhappy sound.
Effortlessly, he lifts me from my feet. Half a dozen long steps, and he deposits me on the bed, face down. “Isn’t that the truth?” His answer is a harsh whisper in my ear, and I gasp at the drag of his teeth, everything inside me pulling inward like a vacuum. But then my body cools as his begins to retract.