Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
Royce grunted and returned to the closet where Marc could hear hangers sliding back and forth on a metal pole.
“After the show, it will be expected that we make some appearances around the city. Maybe a movie or at least dinner.”
“How big is your social circle?” Royce asked as he returned carrying what looked to be two suits and a garment bag. The dark fabric would look good against his coloring, and Marc found himself looking forward to dinner, even if it was only so he could see Royce in a suit.
“In Cincinnati, not very big. Maybe just a dozen friends and somewhat close acquaintances.” Marc quickly looked away when Royce once again stopped to watch him. It was unnerving the way Royce stared at him like he was weighing everything Marc said on a secret scale.
“You’re not from Cincinnati?”
“My family is, yes.”
“Then where are the majority of your friends located?” Royce resumed packing, zipping his suits up in the garment bag. Without his eyes on Marc, the words seemed to come a little easier now.
“London. I have galleries in London, Hong Kong, and New York City. I was spending most of my time in London until about six months ago.”
“What changed?”
“My sister’s marriage.”
Royce looked up at him, wordlessly prompting him to continue. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak. It had been drilled into his head since birth that you didn’t talk about family issues with anyone outside of the family. You didn’t gossip. Didn’t spread salacious talk. Never argued in public. You could only show a united front to the world no matter how angry or hurt you were.
“I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m only asking so I can do my job.”
Marc gave a jerky nod. He knew this. “My sister’s husband cheated on her the entirety of their seven-year marriage. He only admitted to it when his mistress got pregnant. He needs the divorce, so he can marry her.”
Royce swore and shook his head. “That sucks,” he murmured as he walked into the en suite bathroom.
“That’s an understatement. They met in college, and my sister supported him through law school. When she told me of the divorce, I moved my base of operations back to Cincinnati, so I could be close to her. She’s living in the guest house on my property.”
“How long has she been living there?”
“About five months.”
Royce returned to the bedroom and dropped a leather Dopp kit into the roller bag. “And now there’s a chance that she could be trying to kill you?”
“I-I don’t know,” Marc stammered, jerking his gaze away from Royce. The thought of Lilah trying to hurt him threatened to take out his knees. She was going through a rough patch right then, but she wouldn’t hurt him. Try to kill him. She might have a temper at times, but there was no reason for her to hate him. “I just can’t see her doing something to hurt me. Or even my brothers. Maybe I’m overreacting. Looking for attackers where they are none.” As he spoke, he took a couple of steps backward until his shoulders hit the wall.
At the same time, Royce crossed the room. His hand shot out and snagged Marc’s left wrist before he could jerk it away. His touch seemed to burn straight through the material of his button-down shirt and bandage, scorching his flesh. Royce tightened his grip, unknowingly squeezing the healing lacerations there, but the shot of pain helped to clear Marc’s head.
“This doesn’t look like an overreaction to me,” Royce practically growled. “How?”
“Car accident.”
“Accident?”
“Brakes gave out.”
“And that car was how old?” There was no missing the sarcasm and skepticism lacing every word.
Marc closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall with a loud thud. “Two months. I’d had her two fucking months. Before she was delivered, mechanics crawled over every inch of her. She was perfect. And someone fucked with her. Tampered with her brakes.”
“What was she?”
“2018 Porsche 911. Beautiful ghostly gray paint with black leather interior and trim.”
“Fuck.”
Marc opened his eyes at the sound of the pain in that single word from Royce. The other man was just shaking his head at Marc.
“I might not give a shit about you,” Royce admitted, pausing as he narrowed dark eyes on Marc, “but someone has to pay for hurting that car.”
Tipping his head back, Marc laughed loudly. God, it felt like it had been months since he’d last laughed like that, and he’d never expected Royce to be the cause. But he needed it. When he stopped, it was to find Royce staring at him, but it was different. There was heat in that gaze, enough to make his mouth go suddenly dry. He wanted Royce to grab him, to pull him down for a kiss that would burn them both up, but Marc forced himself to look away first, clearing his throat.