Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“I don’t know, Heather.” His lids drop, shuttering the effect as he straightens his cuffs. Dark French cuffs with silver cuff links, the hint of a leather-strapped watch peeking from beneath it. “That looks like a frown to me.”
The redhead’s sleek and straight hair moves like a shampoo commercial as she shakes her head. “Nope, that’s just his Neanderthal brow, the primitive being he is.”
“Piss off, Heath.”
“Nice to see you too, dearest Sorrel.”
El’s frown deepens. He really doesn’t like his name. “What are you two doing here?”
“I wanted to go dancing, and Archer didn’t. Whit offered to come in his place.”
“You don’t dance,” he retorts flatly.
“That’s never stopped me from busting a few moves before.” She makes an adorably uncoordinated krumping move with her arms.
“And you hate clubs.” He points an accusing finger Whit’s way.
“I’m just being a good brother,” Whit answers mildly.
“One out of four aren’t great odds,” the redhead says before turning her attention to me. “Hello!” She holds her hand out over the table. “You must be Mimi.”
“Er, yeah.” As my hand meets hers, she gives it a no-nonsense shake.
“I’m Heather. Another of the Whittington brood.” She slices a look El’s way. “Budge up.” El just stands there. Heather tuts. “El, move.” Without waiting, she pushes between him and the table, sliding in next to me. “I’ve been dying to meet the woman who’s stepped into Jody’s capable clogs.”
“Crocs.” The word is propelled from my mouth as Whit lowers himself into the chair opposite me. His eyes fall over me, making me feel as though my innermost thoughts are exposed. Dirty thoughts. Flashes of last night mixed with those from my imagination.
“Hello, Mimi,” his low voice rumbles. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Ditto.” It’s all I can manage. I’ve never been happier to be in a club as I am right now. Obviously, because Whit’s here, but also because of the low lighting, he can’t tell I’ve gone beet red. And my cheeks aren’t the only part of my body that’s heated. And I’m not sure my parents’ assumptions were wrong because my heart feels like it might burst from my rib cage at any moment.
“Really?”
I turn my attention to Heather’s distasteful expression, then remember what we were talking about. Crocs. “Jody said it was because of pregnancy cankles. She left a pair of them under her desk.”
“I hope you sprinkled them in salt and burned them.” She glances down at her own shoes. They’re red and sparkly with spiked heels. “It’s enough to put you off ever experiencing the blessed state,” she adds, twisting one foot this way, then that admiringly.
Kids? Not touching that. “Your shoes are so pretty.”
“Thank you. They are lovely, aren’t they?” Heather smiles down at her feet. “My husband bought them for me. I call them my Dorothy Gale slippers.” She clicks her heels together. “Because there really is no place like home.” I don’t miss the look she and Whit exchange. “I’m not here to dance, really.” Mischief dances in her gaze as Heather glances my way. “I’m here to make sure El is treating you properly.”
“Properly?” I sound pretty amused.
“To make sure he’s not trying to get into your knickers.”
“What?” I press a hand to my mouth to suppress a giggle.
“Panties?” She scrunches her nose and gives her head a quick shake. “I prefer knickers. I think the word sounds a bit more regal, don’t you think?”
“I’ve never really…”
“Anyway, I’m here to keep an eye on him.” She dips her head El’s way. “Polly sanctioned. If this were a regency romance, El would be the family rake.”
“A what?” El demands.
“The cad—the bounder.”
“Oi!” El protests indignantly. “I’m not. At least, I’m no worse than Brin.”
“That doesn’t exactly recommend either of you.”
“What about the dark horse over there?” El asks unhappily, nodding to the eldest of the Whittington brood.
“What about him?” she asks sweetly.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t have any beef with old golden balls.”
“Old and golden.” Whit glances Heather’s way. “Should I be worried about his fixation with my nutsack?”
Heather barks out a laugh, and El drags his unhappy gaze her way again. “It didn’t stop you from marrying Archer.”
“Archer’s reputation was overstated,” she answers tartly. “He’s a reformed character. A happily married man.”
“I can’t see how, considering he married you.”
Heather slides me a look that speaks volumes. Kind of, see what I’ve saved you from?
“I was being perfectly well-behaved,” El protests. “I’ve treated Mimi like a sister all night.”
Well…
“That’s quite a broad scope of works,” Heather murmurs, sliding her hand over a wrinkle in her own little black dress. “In my experience, that could mean anything from a noogie to emotional blackmail.” She turns my way. “He hasn’t tried to fart on your head, has he?”
“Heather,” El moans, aggrieved.
Meanwhile, I snort-laugh as I shake my head. Too late, I press my hand to my mouth as though to cover the horrible sound.