Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 103413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Your fairy godmother?”
He laughed. “Close. I’d love to see Liam in a dress and wings.”
“What did he do?”
“Ran his gaze over me then walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and told me to fucking get inside.”
“You told him no?”
“Hell no. You’ve seen him. Back then, he was still fighting, and was even bigger and nastier-looking than he is now. I was a good little boy and got the fuck in his car. Then I apologized for getting his car all wet. He told me to shut the fuck up.”
“You must have been scared.”
“Terrified. But I also appreciated his bluntness. My ex had spent the whole time we were together lying. Just to keep me with them, doing all the jobs they didn’t want to pay someone to do. Liam drove me to the nearest town. I told him to drop me off at this flea-ridden motel, which was all I could afford. He just told me to shut up again, then took me to his hotel room. He let me have the first shower, gave me some dry clothes. When I got out of the shower, I asked him if he wanted to fuck me or a blow job.”
She gasped.
“He just stared at me and asked me what happened. After I told him, he nodded and asked if I was any good on my guitar. I played a bit for him. He told me that it was obvious why my ex treated me like shit. Because he was jealous of how good I was. That was when I started to fall in love with him. Liam’s a good guy. Gruff on the outside, marshmallow on the inside.”
“Marshmallow, really?”
He grinned. “He’d chop off his own hand before hurting you, Lottie-ho-hottie.”
Oh, seriously.
Did I just said that? I really have issues.
“Ho-hottie?” To his shock, her lips twitched. “I’m almost thinking I was just insulted.”
Huh? Oh.
“Not that kind of ho,” he said hastily. “You know, the Santa clause sort of ho, the laughter with the bowl full of jelly, not . . .”
“The prostitute kind?” she asked. Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, and he scowled at her.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“What? Me? Never. I wouldn’t be so rude.” But a small giggle erupted. “The Santa Claus kind of ho?”
“I’ve lost all cred with you, haven’t I?”
“If you hadn’t, you would have after using the word cred,” she told him seriously. But that twinkle didn’t leave her hazel eyes.
“You.” He pointed at her. “You’re trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who just called me a ho.”
“Lord. My mama would twist my ears if she knew I spoke to you like that.”
“She would?” She gave him a startled look.
“Don’t worry, she’d love you. She’d fill you up on dolmas and baklava.”
“Yum. You’re close?”
He shrugged, not really wanting to answer that. “I’m the black sheep of the family.”
“You?”
“Might have caused a bit of trouble in my misspent youth.”
“That I believe.”
He put his hand on his chest. “I’m wounded.”
“Were you born in Greece?”
“No, I was born here in the states. My parents immigrated about five years before I was born when my brothers and sisters were young. We’re huge, we’re loud, and we love ouzo.”
“Really?”
“Nah, can’t stand it, to be honest. But you can’t tell anyone. Especially my mother; she’d disown me.”
She studied him. “I can’t tell when you’re joking or serious.”
“You’ll just have to get to know me better then, won’t you?”
A nervous look filled her face. “How long are you staying?”
“A while,” he said vaguely.
She set down her paintbrush.
“What are you painting?” he asked when she didn’t say anything more.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m not very good.” Reaching down, she grabbed an old sheet, throwing it over the easel.
Curious.
“I’ve heard that artists can be superstitious about letting someone see their work before it’s finished.”
“Yes, I guess so. But then, I never let anyone see them once they’re finished either.” She sent him a smile that he thought was meant to be reassuring.
Instead, it just seemed fucking sad. He wondered why she didn’t let anyone see them. And what she did with them once they were finished. Hell, he didn’t care if she just painted shapes. He still wanted to see them.
“Well, if you ever want to show someone who knows nothing about art, then I am your man.”
“You know nothing about art, huh?” She rubbed at her hand that had been holding the paintbrush as though it was hurting her.
He frowned, wanting to offer to massage it. Damn, he was getting turned-on by the idea of massaging her hand.
You sick bastard.
“Your tattoos look like works of art to me.”
He smiled wide, putting his hands in his front pockets and rocking back on his heels. “That they are. But I didn’t do them, so I can’t lay claim to that talent.”