Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
I’m in a full-on laughing fit by the time she’s scared Brad off, and, fuck, it feels good to laugh. I wipe at my eyes and find her.
The sheet is pooling her feet.
I look down and watch as my dick stands and tents my boxers.
Magic.
4
BEAU
James brushes his nose across the skin of my stomach as I recover. “We’d better get ready for dinner,” he eventually says.
“Rose canceled.”
“Danny never mentioned it, so we’re going.” He rests his chin on my stomach and gazes up at me, his eyes soft as I sink my fingers into his hair. “What are you thinking, Beau?” He’s worried about me going back to dark places.
“I’m thinking . . .” I fade off and push some hair from his eyes. “You need a trim.” But just a trim. I’m loving his longer hair. And the fact the sun has kissed it, making it lighter and his skin tan.
He peeks up at his mop. “What can I do to make this easier?”
I smirk. “Kill him. Like, really kill him.” I know James was braced for a total shitstorm amid the other shitstorm. Killing The Bear is a given. Problem is, no one knows how long that’ll take.
“And in the meantime?” he asks, sounding as surprised as he looks.
“In the meantime, you worry about me,” I answer. It’s simple. “Why are we discussing this, when we all know what’s going to happen?”
“Are you being smart?”
“Always.” I slip down the bed and kiss him. “I accept it. You thought The Bear was Perry Adams and killed him. The Bear wasn’t Adams, so now it is back to the drawing board. What else can I do?” The moment I looked at him last night, as he watched me dancing, I knew something had happened. And I feared I knew what. Because, like Rose, I’d silently questioned Perry Adams’s capabilities. I didn’t know him like Rose did, of course, but he was mayor of Miami. A bit of a dick, to be honest, but The Bear? No.
I’ve chosen to be with James, and I’ve been at peace with that decision for a long time. Okay, so sometimes I slip below the surface into the darkness. Some days I don’t feel so sure I can look toward the light. Some days, I’m fighting to keep my head above water. But never since finding out who James is, namely, The Enigma, the cold-blooded, silent killer, have I questioned my love for him. Not once. Never have I thought about leaving him. We just take each day as it comes and deal with it as it does. Bottom line, I’m no longer alone. I don’t need to fight my darkness in solitary.
I have James.
“I love you, Beau Hayley,” he whispers, blinking, his lashes so close I feel them tickle mine.
“Broken, fixed,” I murmur. “Happy, sad. I will always remember that.”
He smiles mildly and kisses me deeply. “Pregnant, not pregnant,” he says, and I pull back in surprise, regarding him. I don’t need to ask him what he means by that. I know.
“Are you saying we have to stop trying?” I ask.
“Did you hear those words come out of my mouth?”
“Not exactly.”
“I don’t want you to be sad if it doesn’t happen.”
“Are you shooting blanks all of a sudden?”
He rolls his eyes and kisses me chastely. “Are you a comedian all of a sudden?”
“You want to wait, don’t you?”
“I want to do what’s best for us.” He stands and pulls me up, walking me to the bathroom. “Come on, we’ll be late.”
“I told you, Rose canceled.”
“And I told you, Danny hasn’t so we’re going to Antarctica.”
I laugh and let him put me in the shower, standing still while he washes me all over with a soapy sponge. I don’t know what’s best for us. Less for James to worry about would be best, I suppose, and another life, me having a baby, will be more for him to worry about. But for me?
I look down at my tummy, wondering.
Hoping.
Praying.
We walk down the beach to Danny and Rose’s hand in hand, James carrying the wine and my shoes, me carrying my purse. “I haven’t seen Goldie today,” I say, looking up to the bar where Zinnea sings. It’s her night off so the beach and half of St. Lucia are spared the sound of her dulcet tones so she can enjoy dinner with her family.
“Me neither,” James says, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping his thumb across the screen before slipping it back in and reclaiming me.
“She didn’t say anything last night?” I ask.
“Oh, she said plenty, and none of it suited the dress she was wearing.”
I laugh, even if it’s misplaced. “I like girlie Goldie.”
“I think she’s going to be gone for a while.” He drops my hand and puts his arm around me, kissing my hair, and I hum my agreement, knowing the news we got last night will likely put Goldie back a few paces on her path to freedom. Brunelli, the man who raped her and turned her into the cold-hearted, emotionless female we all know and love, is dead, and she thought James had exorcised his demons, so a softer, more feminine woman—one who let her guard down, was starting to emerge. One who wore dresses and drank wine. I imagine she’ll be feeling quite crestfallen right now. But she won’t walk away. Not until she knows James can.