Virtue (The Morgans of New York #4) Read Online Deborah Bladon

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: The Morgans of New York Series by Deborah Bladon
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
<<<<3848565758596068>74
Advertisement


Her gaze trails over my face. “How long have they been married?”

The answer is an easy one since I attended their fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner six months ago. “A little over fifty years.”

I expect that will bring her joy, but her lips dip into a frown. “That’s a very long time. They must have gone through a lot together.”

“They love each other.”

She closes her eyes briefly. “I’d like to help you cook.”

“I’m pouring takeout soup into bowls and cutting up fruit.” I keep her in place. “I think I can handle that.”

“I want to help.”

“You’re taking a bath.” I step back to push a strand of her hair back from her face. “I slipped a bottle of bubble bath into the shopping cart when you were distracted by my ass.”

Her hand jumps to her mouth. “What? I was not looking at your ass.”

“The walls in that store we were in are lined with mirrors, lamb.” I tap my ass. “Don’t tell me what I did and didn’t see when I stole a glance.”

“Your ass is quite an ass,” she admits. “It’s not your best feature, but it’s in the top five.”

“So, my cock holds the number one spot?”

“No.” She trails a fingertip over my bottom lip stopping to kiss the spot she bruised with her teeth this morning. “Your eyes do.”

Jesus. This woman is going to ruin me.

“I’ll start your bath.” I step back to find some air to breathe because I feel like my lungs are collapsing. “I skipped lavender for something vanilla scented.”

“You’re perfect.”

I want to be. I wish to fuck I was, but there’s not a man walking this earth who can claim that title.

“Strip.”

She laughs. “What is it with you and that word? Does it work with all of your lovers?”

I stop her hands with mine when she goes for the top button on her blouse. “I don’t have any other lovers, Eloise.”

“You will,” she whispers.

“Not while we’re doing…” I struggle to find the words.

She steps in to save me. “This.”

“This.” I lean down for a kiss. “I’m not taking another woman to bed. I don’t want you to fuck anyone either.”

“My pussy is yours until further notice.” She tilts her head. “All of the rest of me is, too.”

I turn around under the pretense that I’m going to grab the bubble bath out of the bag, but I use the brief reprieve to take a breath.

I want all of her, including her heart. I don’t deserve it. I could never do enough to earn it, but regardless, it’s something I’ll want until the day I die.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Eloise

“Your bath side manner is impeccable.” I smile at him across the table.

“You liked that, did you?”

I nod. “The vanilla scented bubbles, the extra care you took to wash certain areas of my body, the kisses while you did that.”

He had helped me get in his claw foot tub, and then had sat next to it, reciting a few lines from different poems Claude Garin had written. The reason for that was that he was testing my knowledge.

I knew exactly what poem each quote belonged to. When I switched it up to quiz him, he knew it all, too.

He got on his knees then to wash my body, taking his time to soap a washcloth before he ran it over me. He stopped every few seconds to kiss my mouth softly.

All of this happened with candles lighting the room, and a glass of red wine at the ready for me.

“This food is delicious.” I point at the bowl that once contained a creamy mushroom and herbed soup. The small plate to the left of it only had a few strawberry slices on it. I polished off the other berries and kiwi slices.

“I can’t take credit for any of that.” He grins. “The soup is my favorite from that particular market. Fruit is fruit.”

“You don’t cook much, do you?”

He shakes his head. “I work too much to cook.”

My gaze drops to his bare chest and the tattoo that winds around his bicep. He took off his shirt after I “accidentally” splashed him as he sat next to the tub. After he dried me and dressed me in one of his white button-down shirts, he changed into a pair of jeans.

“When did you get the tattoos?”

His gaze darts to his arm. “Med school.”

I study the design carefully, noting how the shaded gray and black ink contains a few symbols along with what looks like someone’s name.

My heart sinks as I crane my neck to try and read it.

“Rudy,” he whispers. “It says Rudy.”

“Oh.” I sit back, slightly embarrassed that he caught me trying to make it out.

“He was an old friend,” he explains.

Was.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I want to know more about the person he cared enough about to tattoo his name on his body, but I don’t pry. I trust that he knows that I’ll listen if he wants to share.


Advertisement

<<<<3848565758596068>74

Advertisement