Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
"You miss her?"
"Yeah. But it has also been a long time now. But Shep's accident has really brought us back together. So we have a little bit of family again. It was the first time I've spent Christmas with someone since I was like twenty. It was nice." Even if Shep grumbled about not being able to help me trim the tree and without any special presents because finances didn't allow it.
It's not for forever. It's just for now.
That was my mantra.
"Sugar? Milk?" Malcolm asked, shaking me out of my bittersweet memories.
"Yes to both," I said, nodding.
"When your brother is back on his feet again, are you planning on staying around here?"
"Yeah. It's nice here. You can be right in the middle of everything, or live a little further out, but still close to all your creature comforts. What part of town do you live in? Or do you live here?"
"I stay here sometimes," he told me, putting the milk and sugar down in front of me. "But I have my own place on some acres in the woods."
"I can see that," I agreed. I wasn't sure I'd ever met anyone who looked more like a woodsman than Malcolm. "And the dogs come with you from place to place?"
"Yeah. And sometimes they will hang with my mom and dad. They have two new wolfhound puppies they are trying to socialize, so if I am going to be gone all day, or am off on a job, Tommy and Chuckie stay with them."
"I've never had a dog," I admitted. "My mom was allergic. And then apartments I've rented haven't allowed them."
"I grew up with Great Danes. Three different sets, since they don't live that long. They still have one Dane now, but my old man got a wild hair about wolfhounds recently."
"And you went for mastiffs. They had to be the cutest puppies."
"I have a phone full of proof of that fact," he agreed, taking a sip of his black coffee.
"So, did you always know you were going to join the club? Was it expected of you?"
"I always knew, yes, but I wouldn't say it was expected. Our parents have always had mixed feelings about the kids growing up and joining."
"Because it's dangerous."
"Yeah. There's a lot of risk. But it is also a big family, and I think they wanted that support for us too."
"This is for guys only, right?"
"So far, yeah."
"Because you think women can't do it?"
To that, he let out a low, all-too-appealing chuckle. "Oh, honey, if you'd ever met my female cousins, you would know that has nothing to do with it. They're all very capable. Maybe even more capable in some cases."
"Do they not want to be a part of the club?"
"A lot of them are still too young to even decide what they want to do with their lives. The ones who are older have all picked different paths."
"So, you work with your dad then, right?"
"Yeah. Sometimes. As we keep growing, and there are more of us around, the original members have been stepping away to enjoy some free time more and more. But, yeah."
"Is it weird? To, you know, do this kind of work with your father?"
"No. That's the beauty of it. They do it too, so they can't judge us."
"That's true I—" I started before some crashing sound in the other room had me whipping around, then slamming my hand on the counter as the whole world swam.
"Easy. It's probably the guys fucking around," Malcolm said, voice soft, as his hand anchored on my shoulder, helping ground me as things kept spinning. "That was a good knock," he said, voice a little lower, soothing, as his hand brushed the side of my head.
It should have felt chaste, medical even.
Why, then, did the heat of desire bloom through my system? Why did my heartbeat trip, my belly drop, and my sex clench?
I didn't have a logical reason for it, but there it was regardless, a throbbing, aching thing that made me a little more aware of the outline of each of his fingers on the side of my head than I should have been.
"It's gone down a lot," he murmured as his thumb brushed across the raised spot. Once, twice, three times. More than medical or chaste or even accidental.
His hand shifted downward, settling on my neck below my ear, his thumb moving outward again, but this time to trace down my jaw where my bruise had all but disappeared, and what was left of it was completely masked by the makeup he'd gotten for me.
His gaze dipped lower, and a second later, so did his thumb, tracing the underside of my lip.
And, well, there was nothing to inspect there anymore. The cut had healed to a scab that had already come and gone.
My breath got stuck in my chest as my gaze lifted, seeking his, needing to know if I would see reflected there what I felt moving through me.