Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Keep looking at me like that.
“Why don’t we compromise?” He said, before she had a chance to respond. “I’ll draw us a bath.”
She waited, raising one eyebrow. “What’s the compromise?”
He was off the bed so fast she assumed he could feel his legs again. “You can rest until it’s ready.”
“That’s all?”
“I’ll wash while you ride.”
His wicked laughter followed him out of the room.
Bronte closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She might not have to worry about confessions or who was showing up tomorrow. She’d die before the sun came up.
But she’d be smiling.
Chapter Six
Sunlight was filtering into his apartment when William heard the knock and snuck out of bed, slipping on a pair of old sweatpants before he opened the door.
Two large Sunday’s Side takeout bags were on the ground in front of him. He glanced out into the hall. Not a Collins in sight.
But there was a note attached.
Mating munchies from Sunday’s. Serving all your belated honeymoon needs since roughly five minutes ago. Dig in and Pop says, “Don’t screw it up.”
William smiled and shook his head. He felt oddly protective of this family. The Collins weren’t obligated to root for him, to care for him in any way. That they did made him feel both honored and concerned that someone would come along and take advantage.
The kind of someone he used to be.
He took the bags into the kitchen and started to unpack. Munchies indeed. A platter of meats, cheeses and fruit. Riley’s famous sandwich fixings. Chocolate cake.
Had Bronte ever had cake for breakfast?
Those were the kind of details William wanted to find out about her. How she woke up in the morning. What she dreamed about. He’d discovered one or two things in his email exchanges with Solomon and Brady, enough to get her a few gifts to keep him in her thoughts. He’d learned more in her late night texts, but it still wasn’t enough.
He needed all of her. Bits and pieces weren’t enough. If nothing else, last night had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He bit back a groan remembering how she rode him in the bath, her full breasts swaying in front of his mouth, tempting him to madness.
After drying off she’d surprised him by getting on her knees. It had only taken a minute with her lips around his shaft before he’d had to have her again.
He’d forced himself to leave her alone after she’d passed out, because not even he was that much of a prick, but he hadn’t slept for long. He’d been too aware of the silken skin that still smelled faintly of peaches, but more of him. The soft, adorably feminine snores that he knew no lover had ever heard before him.
She’d never spent the night with a man. Never dated someone long enough to bring them to a family dinner, or introduce them to her friends.
She might have been on this earth longer, but he felt ancient beside her. There was something pure and fine about Bronte. Something that made him wonder if he was being selfish, wanting to keep her for himself.
William was damaged goods and he knew it. But when he was with her, all of that fell away. Was it wrong for him to want that? Was it dirty pool, using her desires to tie her to him?
He thought about the night they’d gotten married. Unlike her, he remembered everything.
When Bronte and her friend showed up at the dive bar he’d been loitering in, he was sure they’d been lost. He’d told himself he had no choice but to watch over her. Leaving her alone to be groped or rolled wasn’t an option.
He’d bought them a few rounds and given her friend some marital advice before Bronte started talking. Really talking. She’d talked about her concern for Hugo and Solomon. About her love for her nephews and her mother’s constant reminders that her biological clock wouldn’t be ticking forever. She talked about how she’d given up on having a family of her own, though he hadn’t known why until yesterday.
She’d humbled him that night. Dazzled him. Made him laugh, both before and after their hasty vows and their impromptu celebration. It was as if she’d pulled back the curtain to show him something he’d always wanted, only to close it up again the next morning, leaving him on the outside.
That one glimpse had been enough for him to know it was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
If he earned it. If he worked hard.
If he found a way to scale the last few obstacles without getting himself killed or having her hate him forever.
He set up the coffeemaker, pulling out the hazelnut coffee he’d been drinking since he discovered her preference. He preferred tea or a pint, but now that he was a citizen, he decided to embrace the custom.