Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Stay here.”
“I gotta go,” he grumbled, mauling my mouth. “But I don’t want to.”
“That’s a nice thing to say.” I fisted the lapel of his suit jacket with one hand while I slid the other up into his hair.
“There’s extra security around the house,” he said softly, kissing along my jawline. “Do not leave. Stay here until I get back.”
“Isn’t the point supposed to be to lure this psycho out?”
“The point is to make him so nuts over not being able to get to you or Celia that he messes up. I need you to wait here and not leave.”
“All right,” I agreed. I took his hand and slid it down my abdomen to my dick. “But before you leave…”
The deep, filthy groan from the man as he squeezed my cock made me buck up off the bed.
“Nobody’s ever wanted me like this.”
“I don’t get that at all,” I replied truthfully because, really, given his moss-green eyes, chiseled jaw, and big, hard body, how was that even possible?
“Don’t”—he gasped—“change.”
“I promise,” I said before I went to work on the buttons of his dress shirt.
I got up from my postcoital nap, showered, and went downstairs, which was when I realized there were a lot of visitors in the house.
“Good morning, Tracy,” Brian greeted me. “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
“What makes you say that?”
He pointed at my eyes. “You have some serious baggage there.”
I had, truthfully, not gotten much sleep, but the reason was not to be shared. “So what’s going on down here?”
“My folks are hosting a brunch for some of Breckin’s old friends.”
“Got it.”
He leaned in close. “Is it smart to have lots of people in the house when you and Celia are being guarded?” He scrunched up his face. “It seems counterintuitive to me.”
“Right?” I agreed.
He stepped back. “Feel free to mingle, and there’s food and drinks out on the deck.”
“I like this undercover thing you’ve got going.”
“I’m trying to go along even as I take pictures of everyone.”
“Smart,” I praised him.
I got a smile for that. It was weird; he looked so much like Breckin. Not quite as handsome, but very close. It was strange to like him and be completely and utterly not a fan of his brother.
Walking through the house, I saw that Breckin stood with Celia, his parents, and friends in a small huddle. When I drifted by, I heard him sharing stories. Celia was holding his hand, and when she saw me, she gave me a smile like she was so very glad to see me. It was nice, and I smiled back instantly. She was in a good place, and so was I. Everything felt so very normal, which was odd in the middle of the two of us still hoping to lure a murderer out into the open.
The spread, out on the deck, was enormous, and it was monitored by a whole host of catering personnel. It was a security nightmare, and I wondered vaguely if Cord knew.
Hungry, I filled a plate and took a seat at a small table by myself. A member of the staff came by, dropped off a goblet of water, and asked me if I wanted anything else.
“Ice tea?”
“Flavored, sweetened, or non?”
Dear Lord. “Just regular unsweetened black, if you have it.”
“Of course.”
It was impressive, really.
“Hello.”
My head snapped up because I had been totally focused on eating—voracious sex created quite an appetite—and met a pair of soft dark-blue eyes.
“I’m Lucien Ritter, an old friend of Breckin’s, and I understand you’re a new one?” He held out his hand to me.
“I am,” I said, smiling at the handsome man as I shook his hand. “I’m Tracy Brandt.”
“It’s a pleasure.”
I invited him to sit with me since he was holding a plate in his other hand. Once he was seated, the waiter delivered my ice tea and asked Lucien what he wanted. After he’d ordered a gin and tonic and we were alone, I asked him how far he and Breckin went back.
“To high school, actually,” he said, smiling at me. “It was me, Breckin, and Turi.”
“Who?”
“Turi Carrera. The three of us all swam together, played soccer, and ran track.”
“Oh. Like the three musketeers.”
“Precisely.”
“And where is Turi now?”
He cleared his throat. “He died”—he caught his breath—“is easiest to say.”
“What’s harder?”
His gaze met mine. “He committed suicide.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah… Right after that, Breckin left for college without a word. This is the first time I’ve seen or talked to him in eighteen years.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said sincerely, reaching across the table to squeeze his shoulder briefly. “Not only did you lose Turi, but Breckin too. That had to have been so hard.”
“You’re very kind. No one ever said that to me before.”
I was surprised, and my look must have conveyed as much.
“I think it’s because we’re guys, right? I mean, how connected could we have been?”