Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
August tilted his head back and breathed deeply. “I’m going to do my best with the money, sir. I’m not great at this. Not like Sam would have been. But I’m going to try and do you both proud.”
“Don’t try, Cates. Just do it.”
Determination hardened his muscles. “Yes, sir.”
The CO hung up. For long moments, August remained in place with the phone still pressed to his ear. Don’t try, Cates. Just do it.
Yes, that was exactly what he would do. Stop fucking around and create a lasting legacy in Sam’s name. Sam’s honor. Didn’t his friend deserve that? This was up to him. There was no one else who could make this dream happen. No one else who would dedicate the time. This dream was on his shoulders and he needed to focus harder. Make it a reality.
The front door of the house opened and there was Natalie, framed in the doorway. Hair tangled all around her head, his sheet wrapped around her body like a toga. She squinted at him across the misty yard. “I’m having the weirdest dream.” She yawned. “I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and you were working out.”
“This isn’t a dream.” August flexed his biceps. “You’re really married to this.”
“No.” She rubbed at her eyes and affection stuck in his belly like a spear. “It’s still dark out.”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning, give or take a few minutes.” He sauntered toward her across the lawn, guilt kicking around in his stomach over the phone call he’d just taken. “This is when I get up.”
“Oh.” Another yawn, bigger this time. “In that case, I want a divorce.”
“Sorry, I won’t sign.”
Her smile was sweet and sleepy. “Arsenic poisoning it is.”
“You’d have to know how to cook something in order to poison me, princess.”
That one might have zinged a little too sharply, based on her flushed cheeks. He was on the verge of apologizing when she said, “I can’t believe I slept with you.”
“We haven’t slept together yet. When we do, you’ll know it.”
Why. Why couldn’t he stop antagonizing her? His brain was trying to reach down and clap its hands over his dumbass mouth, but obviously its arms weren’t long enough and it couldn’t reach. “Then I guess I’ll never know it,” she said, shrugging. A beat passed and she looked down at the phone, still in his right hand. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“No.”
Fuck.
His stomach sent a wave of acid up toward his mouth.
His mind gave him a clear road map toward fixing the lie immediately. All it would require is telling her about the investment from his CO.
Easy.
Sure.
He’d just tell Natalie he’d gone through with the marriage because of his feelings for her. That he loved her and was powerless to do anything but help her succeed. Not because of her family’s influence with the local loan officer. She’d be totally fine with that and wouldn’t kick his nut sack at all.
A pause lingered between them, a line popping up between her brows. She took a final look at the phone—he’d lied and she knew it.
Fix it before you cross the line of no return.
Having her suspicious of him was worse than weathering a little anger, right?
“Natalie, I have to tell—”
“I’m going to New York,” she blurted. “In five days.”
“What?”
Without answering, she turned and slammed the door, leaving him panting out in the cold, his breath forming clouds of condensation around his face. Did that just happen? What was happening? He’d been eating her out less than six fucking hours ago. Now apparently he wasn’t the only thing going south. Their short-lived, unspoken truce was joining him.
“Natalie,” he growled through his teeth, storming into the house behind her. Just in time to watch her disappear into her bedroom, the white sheet trailing behind her on the ground. The cat pounced on the dragging linen, wrestling with it briefly before shooting off into the darkness. “Come back here.”
He tried the handle, expecting to find it locked, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Open the door.”
“Why?” she called through the heavy wood.
“You can’t just drop a bomb like ‘I’m going to New York’ and strut away.”
“Oh, I’m the one who struts, bicep flexer?”
“That’s fair.” He laid his hands flat on the door, willing it to dissolve. “I’m sorry for implying that you don’t know how to cook.”
“I don’t,” he thought he heard her say, very quietly.
And that tiny admission set his throat on fire. “Natalie, please. I just want to talk.”
No response.
She’s not angry about the cooking joke, fuckwit. She’s locked you out because you lied and she’s more than smart enough to see through it. “I was on the phone with my CO.” August scrambled to open the call log, got down on his knees, and slid his phone under her door. “We’re both early risers.”