Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Stop! Read the sign, no fucking fighting!” She screams, throwing a whiskey bottle at my head, but I’m too far gone to care.
I step forward again, grabbing the guy by his collar and hauling him to his feet. He’s maybe thirty, thirty-five, so twenty years or so younger than me, but some things you don’t forget. Like how to be a tough motherfucker.
He throws another punch but it’s pathetic. My fist is in his gut so fast and so hard I wait for the contents of his stomach to spew from his mouth.
“Stop fighting!” She barrels out from behind the bar with a baseball bat.
Fucking temper on my little angel.
I grunt, marching the guy forward, doubled over and groaning, and toss him out into the street. Then I turn, slamming the door behind me.
“Get out!” Hannah screams, pointing the bat at the door as I meet her eyes. “Get out before I call the police.”
I shake my head, stepping forward. “I’m never fucking letting you out of my sight again, babygirl. Never. Not for a second.”
She hesitates as I grab the bat and drop it to the floor where it rolls a few feet away as recognition flits over her features. She knows who I am. “I… told you to get out,” she says, her tone flat but her eyes alive.
“Make me.”
“I… I’m calling the police…” She reaches for the wall phone, her fingers shaking as they settle on the receiver.
“Who am I?” I ask, moving through the pass and behind the counter. The other patrons are staring. I don’t care. Hannah takes a step back, but it’s half-hearted. She wants this as much as I do, she just refuses to believe. “You know,” I tell her. “Who. Am. I?”
“No, I—”
I crowd her with my body against the sink where two glasses topple over, shattering on the floor, and my lips are on hers. The kiss is deep and meaningful, telling her everything I wanted to tell her before the plane crash, before the coma and amnesia. Before I disappeared.
Our mouths know the truth, and she sinks into the kiss, letting me hold her up as I devour her, sliding my hand down to her ass, between her legs, hearing her moan as I press my thumb against her clit.
“Daddy’s home,” I murmur as the kiss breaks, and she shakes her head.
“No. No. I don’t want you here.” Tears crest her bottom lids, and my heart skips a few beats. “You left me. You. Left. Me.” Shock has turned to hot anger, and I don’t blame her but I also don’t care.
“I’m never fucking leaving you again. Come on.” I nod toward the door, sweeping my arm around her waist like a python and squeeze.
She digs in her heels, pulling away. Her eyes flashing with that temper that only makes my dick throb more. “I said no. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m working. I—”
“My girl doesn’t have to worry about money.”
Her eyes narrow. “Really?” she scoffs. “Well, I’d like to know what I was supposed to do for the last year. Perhaps I should have gone back to Maaaaaargaret and asked for an allowance?”
“I’m here now.”
“So I see. And where were you when I needed you? You have another Jamie in another city you went to play games with?”
I clench my jaw, drawing a deep breath through my nose. I’m tempted to simply grab her, sling her over my shoulder, spank her ass for being bratty and march her out of here. “You see my face?” I say, trying to stay calm, but there’s only so much I can take. “You think I flew off to Brazil for a little rejuvenation and hung out for a year drinking fucking pina coladas?”
She folds her arms over her chest, but not before I notice the twin points poking through her white shirt. “So, what happened?”
“Come with me. It’s a long story.”
“I have to stay until closing.” She glares.
And I’m done.
“Everybody out,” I grunt. And when only a few people start moving I raise my voice. “Right fucking now. We’re closed.”
“You can’t do that.” Hannah crinkles her nose, shaking her head.
“I can do what the fuck I want, even if I have to buy this place. You need me to do that, or are we going to go back to yours?”
She taps her foot on the sticky laminate floor as I give every person in the room a look, sending them toward the door.
When the place is empty, I grab her around the waist and sling her over my shoulder, walking us out and she finally concedes. “Fine. I’ll drive, you follow.”
Hannah
Dietrich doesn’t seem to notice the bassinet in the corner and the rack of drying bottles on the counter by the sink. I’m relieved.
I’m lost in a whirlwind of emotion and confusion as I look at the man sitting in front of me at the table.