Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I nod once.
There’s a buzz in his pocket and his eyes soften, no doubt his family calling. While Sex storms off, finger combing his hair, I know I’m not just saying it for his benefit.
How do I go on my merry cartel-busting way without seeing Delia again?
How the hell do I stay away when the stakes have never been higher and I may never taste her again?
15
Lime-Tinted Dream (Delia)
I’ve just lived the slowest twenty-four hours of my life.
One whole day since we stepped off the plane together and Chris dropped me off at home. A perfectly ordinary way to deliver heartbreak with a ribbon on top without even trying.
It’s what we agreed.
Still.
My heart sank when his lips pulled away from that brutally final sticky-sweet kiss.
“Take care of yourself, princess. Don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said.
His words echo now like whispers in a tomb.
Because don’t know when could easily mean never ever.
I sigh, annoyed at how I braced myself with a dozen pep talks in my head on the plane. None of them did a damned thing to help face the new reality without him.
Nobody talks about the other side of paradise with these flings that aren’t meant to be, when all the forbidden kissing stops and there’s just a terrible price to pay in emptiness.
I spend the day cooped up in my room, straining to gush words down on blank pages. That paper won’t write itself and it doesn’t care how miserable I am.
But the words won’t come.
Not when Chris flashes in my mind with his rogue’s smile and bright-green eyes every time I try typing the word SEAL.
It’s not just him.
It’s everything that happened back in Vegas.
The way he slaughtered those monsters who would have dragged me to hell.
The sweet patience putting me back together.
The storm of his mouth, his body, his soul every night, claiming what will always be his no matter how many times I wish it wasn’t.
God.
I wonder what’s worse—the acid drip of heartbreak or the incessant pulse between my thighs.
On the flight back home, I woke up curled up against him.
For a flimsy second, I thought we might be able to put it all behind us.
Maybe we’d actually gotten it out of our systems with the wild, screaming, sheet-ripping nights.
But by day two, I’m a flipping mess.
I shut my laptop, ignoring the passive-aggressive email from Professor Thosser, poking me about being late on updates.
I need to get out of here and go for a run.
Maybe I’ll catch Marnie later for drinks or something.
Dad and Evie are mysteriously absent all day.
When I get home later, I see my wicked stepmother in the hall, berating Marguerite for something I’m sure she didn’t do.
“Lavender roses? The first thing you see when you walk in? What were you thinking, Maggie?”
I wince. Her tone and that mangled nickname feel like a dagger in my stomach.
Poor Marguerite.
“Mr. Burr has trusted my judgment for years. He prefers softer, inviting colors. If you’d like me to try something bolder, I can certainly—”
“Try? No, Maggie. How about you listen for once? Didn’t I tell you from day one how much I love reds? The brighter, the better.”
Marguerite looks down and nods sullenly.
Holy crap.
It’s a hellish test of sheer willpower not to march right over and smack some manners into this leering witch.
But it’s like she has a sixth sense for how I really feel.
Evie looks over the poor woman’s shoulder. She gives me the evil eye as soon as she notices me.
I put on my best resting bitch face and glare back before heading to my room.
Yeah, this is just the crap cherry on this shit sundae of a week.
When did my life become an actual thriller?
I don’t know how I’m supposed to process any of this.
My hero, my lover, my obsession is still my stepbrother.
And unless this joke of a marriage melts down a lot faster than I think, he will be for a long time to come.
Even if he wasn’t, he said he’s not the type who settles down.
He’s all work and rough play.
Damaged goods, supposedly, and every time I see Evie, it’s easy to see why.
...but I didn’t see a man who can’t love in Vegas.
I tasted one who blurted his feelings out right in the thick of passion.
We never even revisited that. I was too afraid to ask.
Too scared to hear him brush it off as a mistake, something he just blurted out, because of course he can’t really feel the big, scary L word for me.
It was just sex, I tell myself. Incredible gold medal bedroom gymnastics so good you’re thinking it’s more.
Don’t be stupid.
Yeah.
Maybe if I keep repeating it enough, eventually I’ll start to believe it.
But every time that vow we made to let this go echoes in my memory, it feels like the feeblest promise I’ve ever sworn.