Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
That’s when the camera flash went off.
Chapter Six
Scott
The suite at the Wynn was large enough for an extended family of ten. Two separate bedrooms bracketed the communal living area in between. It was so big I shouldn’t have been able to hear the conversation Sydney was having in the other room. And yet, I could. Clearly. Painfully. Like firecrackers going off between my eyeballs.
“It’s done,” I distinctly heard.
No mystery whom she was speaking to––Franklin. They sounded like two mobsters discussing a hit job. Which was about right. My old man had already called twice, and I’d let it go straight to voicemail. The numbness had finally worn off and I was itching to give him a piece of my mind. I’d square up with him later though. Now I had a battle plan to execute.
“Stay here…for how long?” She sounded bummed. Good. She deserved everything she had coming. “Hmm…yeah…”
Groaning, I buried my head and my hangover under the pillow. If I bypassed my annoyance for a brief moment, I would admit that I liked the sound of her voice. It had body to it, a soft rasp. It was the kind of voice a man sought out, wanted to hear murmuring in his ear at dawn when he rolled over and pushed himself between her legs, rocked his hips, and shot off to pleasureland.
Not now though. Not when it felt like she was jumping up and down on my head.
“Yeah…but I…yeah, okay…did you look over the Wilson & Bosch proposal? Okay. Got it. Bye, Frank.”
Kicking off the sheets that were tangled around my legs, I got out of bed and grabbed the first piece of clothing I could reach––my suit pants off the carpeted floor. After shoving those on with more aggression than they deserved, I stalked out of the bedroom.
And came to a hard stop.
Wearing gray running tights and a white sports bra, Sydney stood at the window bent forward at the waist with her palms flat on the glass. The tights left nothing to the imagination. The sports bra even worse. She took turns stretching one leg, then the other. My dick stirred and it shocked me so profoundly I actually looked down to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Hadn’t I determined only a few days ago that she had no sex appeal to speak of? And yet here I was with a blistering headache and a hangover, getting hard at the sight of my fully clothed, vanilla blonde wife. None of this made any sense.
Tell that to the kickstand in your pants, dipshit.
She turned and surprise briefly flashed on her face as she took me in. Then her gaze slowly lowered. No doubt she’d spotted the wood.
“I was trying to sleep,” I bit out.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was being unfair. It wasn’t her fault that, despite the hangover, my body was responding to her. Regardless, I couldn’t seem to tamp down the anger surfacing. “You couldn’t wait till noon for the postgame analysis with your new father-in-law?”
Man, did that sound odd. This woman––this stranger––was my wife. That hadn’t been a nightmare. A throb of pain brought my hand up and made me grimace, my finger raw and swollen around the gold band. Jesus Christ, I had to get it off before I lost a finger to gangrene. If this wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was.
“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon…” She blinked, an innocent look on her face. Her voice just as blank. Sweat glistened on her chest and ran down between her breasts to her flat stomach. My gaze got hung up there, on her breasts, my motor skills having a delayed reaction due to the absurd amount of very expensive whiskey I’d ingested the day before.
“I just got back from a run…I thought you’d be awake by now.”
My gaze lifted off her body to meet hers. Rust-colored eyes held steady on me. Behind her, a cloudless sky showcased a sun riding low.
I had slept the day away.
My gaze cut back to Little Mrs.-Know-It-All who continued to stare at me blankly while she fixed her ponytail. Her calm demeanor was driving me batshit crazy. Somebody needed to shake her loose. Somebody other than me.
“I guess I overslept.” I sounded apologetic. Why the fuck did I care what she thought of me? I shouldn’t. I didn’t. Besides, I hadn’t overslept in ages. Not since I’d left New York. I was usually out the door by five. Sometimes earlier, depending on the season. But all I could see was the veiled judgement in her eyes.
“You must have,” she returned drily.
The air-conditioning clicked on and my gaze flickered to her nipples. Hard, perfect. Damn. This was swiftly turning into a problem.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Someone who hadn’t spent the last three days observing the cold austere beauty of her face would’ve missed it––the flash of disappointment that broke through the surface calm for the briefest moment. I didn’t. Her chin tucked and her gaze fell on her hand. The one with my ring on it. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when she spoke again.