Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"Pop the hood," I tell her, ready to try and get her on the road like I did the other night.
Then, I notice the streaks down her face. She's been crying again, and it guts me to see it happening in real-time.
"This is for you," I tell her, handing over the envelope of cash Madison left for me.
She takes it, opens the flap, and looks inside.
"It's in lieu of the tips you would've made tonight at the bar," I explain when she lifts her eyes back to mine. I can read the irritation in them.
She pulls in a deep breath and counts the money before splitting it and handing half to me.
I know better than to argue with the woman, even though I know she needs this couple of hundred dollars a hell of a lot more than I do.
"I don't want pity or handouts," she explains when I stare down at the cash in my hand in disgust. "But I don't have a problem taking what I've earned."
It's commendable, honestly. There are a lot of people who would pocket the money and never look back. I hate that I made so many damn quick judgments about her.
"Come home with me," she says, her voice soft and sweet as she blinks up at me from the driver's seat.
"Okay," I tell her, not wanting her to drive with how upset she's been tonight.
Then she cranks her car.
"What are you doing?"
"Driving home."
"You're riding with me," I tell her, an edge to my voice I don't recognize.
Instead of arguing as I expect her to, she turns off the car, grabs her purse from the passenger seat and steps out of her car.
"Aren't you going to lock it?" I ask when she closes the door and steps toward my truck.
"Believe me, someone stealing this heap of junk would be a good thing and, since good things don't happen to me, I have nothing to worry about."
I open the passenger side door for her. "Do we need to go get your daughter?"
"Larkin," she clarifies. "No, she's staying with the Kennedys tonight."
Chapter 22
Claire
I knew inviting him back here was going to be a mistake, but my life has been nothing more than a series of mistakes, so why try and change that now?
I wait for him to climb out of the driver's side and come around to open my door. I'd never insult the man by doing it myself.
He keeps close enough to me when we walk from the small parking lot to my front stoop that I swear I can already feel the warmth of his body. When I unlock my front door and step inside, he stays on the other side of the threshold.
"Really?" I ask, only capable of mustering a little agitation at this point in the night.
I'll be damned if I'm going to beg this man to come inside.
"Claire," he says when I inch closer.
He sounds torn, like he wishes things were different, and I don't know how to analyze it. Does he want more? Does he think I want too much?
Does any of that really matter with the lines we've already crossed?
I lift up on my toes and press my mouth to his jawline, letting my hand rest on his stomach.
The man is in slacks and a white, button-down shirt just like I am, but he's also wearing a suit jacket. With his collar unbuttoned enough that I can see his throat, I've had a hard time keeping my eyes off him. The businesslike look tortured me until Barrett's insensitive ass came up and ruined my night.
"Come inside."
I don't have to ask him a second time. He manages to pick me up, close the front door, and twist the deadbolt into place all in the same breath.
I lick the salt on his neck as he carries me through the small duplex toward my bedroom.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he pulls my mouth away from him and the tiny bites of pain shoot desire and waves of arousal throughout my body.
"I want it fast and hard," I pant, my eyes locked on his lips.
I watch in disappointment when he begins to shake his head.
"You got it how you wanted it last time. It's my turn."
I'd argue that I didn't get it how I wanted it last time, but the fire building in his eyes and the thickness between his legs urge me to see what he has to offer instead.
My body feels like it's on fire when he urges me to my feet and his fingers begin to work open the buttons on my shirt. When I lift my hands to open the button on my slacks, he swats my hands away, a clear indication that he wants to be the one to strip me naked.
I let him, despite it sparking an edge of inhibition with every inch of skin he exposes. I've seen this man without a shirt on, and he's a picture of perfect health. I don't have time to get a good night's sleep much less add an exercise routine into my daily life. I run myself ragged both at the bar and at the vet clinic, but although that helps me stay on the thinner side, it does nothing to tighten and make me look more fit.