Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
“Glorious,” she says, a smile in her voice. “This place Cole rented for us is incredible. He really shouldn’t have done this. He’s too generous, honey.”
My heart warms with the knowledge that Cole has gone all-out for my mother, though it’s not surprising to me at all. “He is,” I say, my eyes meeting Cole’s, his warm with a mix of affection and curiosity.
He arches a brow that says, “I am what?” no words needed. Often, Cole communicates with me with no words needed and I love this about him and us.
I smile and cut my gaze, intentionally leaving him guessing. “I need to go, mom,” I say, “but call if you need us.”
“Us,” she murmurs. “I love the way you are an us with that man.”
“Me too, actually,” I say, amazed that she has latched onto the same word that I have, and about how much my life, and hers, has changed in less than a year.
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you, too.”
We disconnect as the plane pulls into the hangar. “I am what?” Cole asks, taking my hand.
“Arrogant. Good looking. Impossibly stubborn.” I smile. “Generous. Driven. Everything. She says the place you have her staying at is incredible.”
“That would be our weekend home that your mother has now officially seen before you.”
I blanch. “What? Weekend home?”
“That’s right,” he confirms. “A client hooked me up with the property when I was still in Houston. I rent it out for a hefty fee, but now we can claim it as ours. Now we have a reason to head out there and escape the city.”
“My mother?”
“No,” he rejects quickly. “I don’t want to risk dragging the press out there. I was talking about us. We’re the reason.”
And just like that, once again, he’s giving me a reason to smile, not fret. “Cole, I just want you to know—”
His phone buzzes with a text and he grimaces. “And we’re back. They found me.” He leans in and kisses me. “Save that thought for when we’re alone and naked.” He kisses me again quickly and answers the line. “What’s up, Ashley?”
He listens a minute and I don’t miss the subtle tension in his body. “Okay. How the hell does this even happen?” Another pause. “Right. Yes.” He disconnects and looks at me. “Somehow our arrival got out to the press. Savage is back in New York. He and some guy named Smith are waiting inside to escort us home.”
“My God. This is nuts. How often do you go through this?”
“Most cases aren’t televised and followed by the country, like our last one,” he says. “The good news is that everyone wants you after one of these wins. The bad news is that everyone wants you after one of these wins. It’ll pass quickly, but we’ve been out of reach. The press and naysayers need their moment. Which is why I build a security service into our fees on cases like these.” He leans in and kisses me. “I’ll just keep you extra close for the next week. I have more than a few office fantasies we have yet to act out.” He doesn’t give me time to respond. Instead, he unhooks my seatbelt and grips my waist with a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go home and get naked, fuck, and then sleep for twelve hours.”
“Yes, please, to all,” I say, my weary body warming with the idea of finally being back home with this man. He kisses me, unhooks his seatbelt and stands up, offering me his hand.
We start walking down the ramp when his phone buzzes with a text and his jaw sets hard. “More trouble in the Houston office.” He shoves his phone into his pocket. “I need to fix that mess once and for all. It shouldn’t be this damn hard to run a satellite office.”
“More power struggles with the partners?”
“Yes. Rumors of some sort of hostile takeover yet again.”
I stop walking. “You have to get on a plane and go there now. You have to deal with this.”
“We have clients coming in tomorrow to see us,” he says.
“I’ll handle it. Trust me to handle it.” Several people walk around us.
Cole kisses me and wraps his arm around my shoulders, setting us back in motion. “I do, but if I’m forced to go to Houston this week, it will not be good for those tempting fate.” His phone rings again and he glances at the number. “Savage,” he tells me, taking the call.
The two of them arrange where to meet and by the time they hang up, we’re approaching baggage claim. We exit the main airport to find Savage waiting for us, and every time I see the man I think of a woodsman, complete with a plaid shirt and ax. Except he never has a plaid shirt and ax. He’s just big, broad, with a goatee, and a scar down his cheek, and definitely dangerous looking.