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)
“Potato, potahto.”
“They’re both the same thing,” he says, fighting a smile.
“So.” Shoving my tablet pen in my bun, I reach for my glass and lean back, mirroring his posture. “The purpose of this visit is… what?”
Whit’s eyes flick down. “Why are you drinking water?”
“I know, terrible, right? Especially when you consider what fish do in it.”
“Lavender,” he warns.
“Not for any of the reasons you’re insinuating. Not that I’m too young to be up the duff.”
“I didn’t insinuate you were. I merely asked a perfectly acceptable question.”
“And I’m merely telling you I’m drinking water because I’m a hydro homie—super hydrated. And not at all pregnant,” I snap.
“Okay. Fine. I’m glad we’ve established that.”
“The way you lot go on when you see me with a glass of wine, it’s little wonder I opt for water. I’m not an alcoholic, you know.”
His brows flicker. “I’ve never said you were.”
“I seem to remember differently.”
“That was a long time ago. And, at the time, I remember you were drinking vodka from the bottle. “You were a little wild and a lot impetuous, but you grew out of it. At least, I thought you had.”
“Ah! So we’re getting to it.”
“As for pregnant, you’ll just have to forgive people for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Especially as you seemed to have snatched a husband out of midair.”
“Snatched?” I swallow some water, giving myself a moment to consider. “I like that. Yeah, I snatched a good husband, as it happens.”
“Is he?” Whit sits forward, steepling his fingers on the table. “He’s good to you? You love him? He loves you?”
This is not the direction I’d expected my brother to take.
“Yes, he’s good. The best. And I…” I glance down at my glass, swallowing over the ball in my throat—the spiky lump I’ve been ignoring since Raif crouched over me in all his naked glory and asked me to be his wife. For real. To give this marriage a shot.
All in. That was Raif’s promise. His proposal.
“And you what?” Whit prompts softly.
I look up. “I really love him.” The words free, I find myself coughing as tears spring to my eyes.
“You okay?” Whit moves to stand, though he aborts when I lift my hand to ward him off. The last thing I need right now is a cuddle—this emotional dam will hold!
“Fur ball,” I answer, patting the center of my chest. A fur ball of love. But tears, urgh, no thank you. Not that there’s the smallest sign of melting or withering. I’m all in one piece, no sign of abandoned sparkly shoes or stripy stockings. Not that I’m a very good witch. I’m more like a big old scaredy cat—one who needs to pull up her big girl knickers and say “I love you” again. Preferably in earshot of Raif.
As for whether he loves me or not, what exactly does “all in” constitute? All things point to his deep affection and his care. But love? If he loved me, wouldn’t he have said so that morning? Or the multiple times since then, like when I wrapped my left hand around his hard cock, and jacked him so slowly his eyes glazed, and the most beautiful, tortured sounds fell from his lovely lips.
I guess we both enjoy those sparkly hand jobs.
He makes me feel cherished, whatever his feelings toward me are.
“Mum says you were dating him before all this.” His fingers flicker in the air as though to indicate the space.
“Yeah.” If that’s what she said, I won’t contradict it.
“But why marry him so soon? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Because I wanted to.” My answer sounds even, and that seems to surprise my brother. My answer is also true. Even if he did make me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I still wanted to. I was intrigued. A little charmed. And into him, which sounds crazy, but I’ve never had a man like him show interest in me, despite the fact he drives me crackers half the time.
And after what he told me, how he confided in me, I want to climb into his chest and hold his heart to protect it from further harm. I want to wake every morning feeling his body stir beneath my fingertips. Like this morning when I pressed my lips to his, kissing him softly, just a tease. Counting the moments to see how long it took before his mind, his mouth, registered me there.
I love it when he takes my hand in the street for everyone to see. It makes me want to shout from the rooftops, “See this man? He’s all mine, so hands off!”
I love him when his eyes are all soft, and he’s begging for relief. And when it’s my turn, which it is, more often than not, I love how his voice will drop with that husky note as he demands, “Just one more.”