Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Deal!”
As she slips her trusting little hand into mine and marches me off to the kitchen, swinging our arms wildly between us, it feels like all my troubles disappear.
For now, it’s just me, this wonderful little girl, and the amazing man who’s stepped in as her father, watching me with something in his eyes that makes heat flash through my cheeks and stir my belly.
We trade soft, lingering smiles before Nell drags along, practically pulling my arm off.
God, this feels so different.
Like something I wouldn’t mind coming home to every day.
In another life, of course.
I’m not letting my hopes run away with my heart just yet.
I put Nell to work scrubbing potatoes while I peel and slice them. Before long, I’ve got a big pan of scalloped potatoes swimming in cheesy sauce in the oven next to the meatloaves.
By the time I take Nell to wash up, I find Grant already changed out of his uniform and sprawled out on the sofa in a pair of casually sinful jeans and a black short-sleeved undershirt that looks painted on with how devilishly tight it is.
My God.
It’s almost worse now that I have some idea what that body can do to me.
I give Nell a friendly pat on the back and send her upstairs, lingering over the back of the sofa, peering at the open folders in Grant’s lap.
“What’s that?” I inhale sharply as I see the name at the top of the cluttered page.
Sanderson, Ethan Ronald.
Holy crap.
“Old case files. Ethan’s report,” he says, flipping the folder shut and tilting his head back. A quick kiss is all it takes to distract me, so easy and familiar it strikes my heart. “How was your day?”
“Um, interesting. I ran into Janelle Bowden at the grocery store and we ended up having coffee. I’ll tell you about it once Nell’s in bed.”
Dark hazel eyes flicker thoughtfully before he nods. “Thanks for being so good with her. That kamikaze jump would’ve knocked anyone else on their ass.”
“Hey, I learned by keeping up with you and Ethan. Be ready for anything.” Smirking, I catch a strand of his hair and give it a light tug, coiling the short brown lock around my finger and looking at the silver shot through it. “But I see why you’re going grey so early.”
“That’s genetic and you know it. My old man had a silver head before he was fifty.” He snorts. “So, meatloaf for dinner?”
“Meatloaves. Plural. One normal, one spicy enough to burn down the house.”
Grant’s eyes go round like I haven’t seen for years, boyish and starstruck. “You’re telling me you made a hot one just for me?”
“...I remembered how you like your food. What?” Laughing, I tug his hair again. “Hot enough to start a nuclear reaction, right?”
“Woman, I haven’t had the patience to cook separate meals for me and Nell. Most hot grub I’ve gotten the last few years is those spicy pickles down at the corner store.” He’s looking at me like I’ve just handed him the Holy Grail. “Thank you.”
“It’s just meatloaf. Thank me when I’ve made you a five-course gourmet meal or something.”
“Don’t tease me,” he growls.
I brace my hands on the back of the couch and lean over him, stealing a quick upside-down kiss.
I’m high on the fact that I can, though just to reach I have to pull my feet off the ground.
He leans into me, catching me off guard with a sudden searing-hot rush of pressure—but I make myself pull back before he knocks me off-kilter and makes me forget dinner totally.
“Be good,” I mutter. “At least while Nell’s awake.”
“And after Nell’s asleep?” he growls hopefully.
“Then you can be as bad as you want.”
The way his eyes ignite this time when he looks at me are definitely not like a little boy’s.
They’re all man, wolfish and knowing and rogue.
And the way it tangles me up, it’s like there’s nothing else that could break the magic.
I want to cling to it.
Even as I realize it’s a bit hypocritical and maybe I have no good reason to criticize Ros for finding her own ways to hide from reality and its punches.
I know.
I know I’m burying myself in Grant Faircross and this fast-moving illusion of a life together. Probably to avoid having to face my mother and the death clock ticking down day by day.
Am I really so different from Ros? Knowing she’s hiding in the illusion of Aleksander, too.
Ugh, I hate that thought.
But this thing with Grant, it’s not dangerous or weird.
It’s not hurting me.
It’s not changing me for the worse.
What’s going on with Ros and Aleksander feels like a textbook toxic relationship.
I know it and I think Ros does, too, or she wouldn’t try so hard to bury it.
I break Grant’s honey-brown gaze just as Nell comes spilling down the stairs, brandishing her still-damp hands proudly. “All clean!”