Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Matt and Fin will be there?”
“Yes.” I frown at her response. Her genuine surprise—delight, even.
“Thanks,” she says, turning her attention away. I’m almost jealous of the smile she bestows on the barman as he places her drink down in front of her. As he leaves, she rises to her toes, attempting to pluck a tiny straw from a container just out of reach.
“A little help here?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t watching the top half.”
“Rude,” she mutters, as I pass her a tiny straw.
You have no idea, darling.
“But thank you for saving my lipstick.”
“Do I get to spoil it later?”
“You know, now that I think about it, you’ve recently taken a vow of celibacy.”
“Kissing isn’t fucking. That might depend on what you’re kissing, of course.” I take a sip of my whisky, allowing that little memory to float between us.
“I think you’re about to enter a monastery,” she adds airily.
“Another time, perhaps. Tonight, I’m besotted with you, and there will be public displays of affection and adoration. Even a little manhandling.”
Her mouth turns down at the corners.
“But I promise to leave that one up to you. You can be as handsy as you like, all as part of the role.” I lift my glass in a toast. “Bottoms up.”
“Even if Bo is about?”
“There’s a lesson I won’t need to learn again.”
“Because that’s not happening again.” She smiles around her tiny straw, and my mind turns deviant.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You might have those baby blues,” she says, “but that innocent look doesn’t work for you.”
“I’ve gotten away with it this far.” I give an unmanly flutter of my lashes, prompting her to giggle.
“You should stick to that haughty brow thing you love so much.”
“My what?” I murmur, doing the exact thing she’s talking about.
Her smile is sudden, wide, and genuine and makes my heartbeats fall in quick succession.
“That’s the one . . . that makes me want to shave the sucker off.”
I almost choke on my drink. Coughing into my fist, I clear my throat, then set my glass down. “That would leave me in a predicament.”
“Or looking like a groom after a bachelor party.”
“There’s little chance of that ever happening.”
“How am I meant to convince people we’re heading for big love when you say things like that?”
“Because I’m saying it only to you.” As I also remind myself.
“You don’t think it’ll ever happen?”
“That I’ll have my eyebrows shaved off at a bachelor party?”
“That you’ll fall in love again.”
Again. Another Lucy assumption I suppose.
“My life is already quite full. It’s not something I devote a lot of thought to.” People don’t fall in love. It’s a choice, not accidental.
“If it happens, it happens? And if it doesn’t, we’ll just murder your harem and bury them, and you, with your pots of money when you pass.”
“No harem.”
“And no Saint Lucy,” she murmurs, quickly taking a sip from her glass.
“You wouldn’t call Lucy a saint if you knew her.” I wonder where this has come from.
“Well, I don’t know her, and I’m clearly not her.”
“And for that, I’m very glad.” I pause, choosing not to correct her assumption. “If you want to know, you only have to ask.” Not that she will.
“I’m not interested.” She flicks her shoulder. “It’s not like I can trust your answers, anyway.”
“I’ll tell you the truth. You just have to know the right questions to ask.”
“Like I said. I don’t care.” She paints on a fake-looking smile, and I’m sorry for it. But what I’m sorry for, I can’t bring myself to admit. “If I can’t make you a celibate monk, who can I make you tonight?”
“Make me a love-drunk fool.” Who doesn’t deserve you.
“Yeah, right.” Averting her eyes, she lifts her drink again. “Why are you looking down at me like that?”
“Physics, darling,” I answer smoothly. “I’m simply taller.”
“Right.”
Wrong. I’m looking down at her like a lover, remembering what it’s like to be drunk on her. “I would love to know what’s keeping your breasts in that dress.”
“Hey!” She presses her hand to her chest, her laughter a sudden bark around the word.
“Careful.” I catch her by the elbow when it looks as though she might topple back. “One wrong move, and the patrons of this bar will get an eyeful, and I’ll be forced to fight the lot of them.”
“To protect my honor? Again?”
“Plain old jealousy, I’m afraid. If I can’t look, no one can.”
“There will be no nip slips in this dress.” Leaning closer, she flicks her finger against my chest. “Womanly trade secrets. Don’t ask. I can’t tell.”
“What is the probability of finding an enormous pair of knickers under that dress later?” I slant her a narrowed look. “The kind made from trampoline skins.”
“I suggest you remove your head from my undergarments,” she says with mock primness. “You won’t find anything under this dress—”
“Daring.”
“—because when we get back later, we’ll be parting at our respective bedroom doors.”