Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“And your mother?” Owen demands. “When will you see her?”
“I see Mom more than ever,” Maxim fires back. “Just not with him. He doesn’t want to see me.”
“And he says you don’t want to see him.” Exasperation and frustration war on Owen’s face. “You two are the most—”
“My flight, Owen,” Maxim interrupts. “I’ve adjusted everything for your campaign. The least you can do is not give me hell when I need to get back to my life every once in a while.”
“You know that’s not…” Owen takes a deep breath. “Anyway, okay. Do what you need to do, but we’ll be at Mom and Dad’s. Our kids need to know their grandparents and their uncle.”
Maxim remains silent, the muscles of his body seemingly drawn tight and preternaturally still. Owen finally nods and steeples his fingers in front of him on the table. I feel like an interloper witnessing this family discord. I wonder if they’ve forgotten I’m here, but then Owen turns his attention to me.
“My father will be there when I announce the exploratory committee.” His words brook no argument, and I don’t give him any.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “I expected as much, but I hope you don’t want him to speak or—”
“No, nothing like that.” Owen frowns. “He doesn’t want that. He actually has steered pretty clear of everything. He’s probably afraid if he gets involved, he’ll run you off, Max.”
“Perceptive,” Maxim intones. “We’ll be fine.”
Millicent pokes her head back in, her cell phone held to her chest. “Sorry, but could I borrow you for a sec, O? The kids want to say goodnight.”
“Of course.” Owen rises and leaves the room, already wearing that smile reserved only for the three people who live under his roof.
The walls push in as soon as I’m alone with Maxim. The air throbs with awareness like smoke filling my lungs, choking me. I allow myself short, shallow breaths so the smell of him doesn’t overwhelm my senses. I grab my bag and head toward the door, deciding not to even speak. At the threshold, though, curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn back to face him.
His eyes are waiting for me, intense and hungry. Fully wolf. The naked emotion on his face snatches my breath and my thoughts and my words for a second. It’s familiar. This look hovered above me when he drove into my body with commanding sensuality, but it seems different on this matured version of him. It’s even more dangerous, more appealing.
I clear my throat, needing to break the tension arcing between us. “When did I tell you I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving?”
He frowns and turns down the firm, full lips at the corners. “That night at Vuurtoreneiland.”
“Really? I don’t remember. I guess we talked about a lot of things that night.”
It comes back to me now, though. Both of us leaning forward across the table, pushing in closer, straining to catch each other’s voices, like archeologists digging around in each other’s heads, searching for answers. I wanted so badly to bottle those moments—not to miss a word he said.
“I can’t believe I forgot I told you,” I say, leaning my back against the doorjamb.
“It was a great night.” He chuckles and sits on the edge of the desk. “I think we were both talking a mile a minute, and by the end of the meal, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
My cheeks heat with the memory of our hurried departure. We couldn’t stop touching each other on the ferry back to the city. I confessed my virginity in the moonlight, and we sprinted through the streets to reach his house. Everything that followed once we were inside rushes back, and I see myself again, spread on his bed, offering myself to him.
“Such a great night,” he repeats, holding my gaze captive. “I think about it all the time.”
Me, too.
It’s an unspoken whisper singeing my heart with its hot breath and secret sentiment. I search for my anger, resentment—anything still lurking around because of the things he didn’t tell me that week—but I can only remember the things he did say. And time folds on itself, blending Kingsman, the young adventurer with a head full of dreams, and Cade, the unimaginably successful man standing in front of me now who brought that young man’s ideas to life. Two men not so different when I think about it. Not different at all. What we had that week, that night, it was true. I think I’ve wanted to run from that because the implication of forgiving Maxim, accepting him back into my life…
“You better catch that flight,” I say, turning to walk out the door.
“Nix,” he says from behind me, his voice getting closer. “I’ve been giving you space, but I haven’t given up. I’ve decided to use a different tactic.”