Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Long night.” He moved past me to examine another painting.
My eyes glanced down at his skull ring.
He caught the look. “You forgot your wedding ring again.”
I didn’t forget it this time. “Where would you like these to be hung? I’ll get to work on that.”
“There’s no way you can hang these.”
Because some of them probably weighed a hundred pounds. “No, but I want to make sure the contractors do everything correctly. Time is money to these guys, so they cut corners and shit. And I don’t put up with that. So, which one should go where? I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
He looked around at the paintings and crossed his arms over his muscular chest…his very muscular chest. He reminded me of a mighty oak tree, hundreds of years old and rich in wisdom, with thick and powerful roots that reached deep into the soul of the earth. After a few seconds of silence, he made his selections.
I wrote down his directions. “I’ll get that taken care of with George.”
He moved to one of the armchairs in the study and took a seat, his stomach still flat like a board even when seated. He was that tight, that ripped, that muscular. His elbow propped on the armrest, his fingers resting across his shadowed jawline. His stare was as striking as the paintings he selected. Then he just stared.
It was tense, like he’d asked me a question and I missed it, like we were in the middle of a conversation that had fallen into silence. He had a threatening presence to him, but it wasn’t hostility directed at me, just in general.
There was nothing left for me to do but leave, but I continued to stand there.
He didn’t look impatient for me to leave. He seemed content letting the seconds tick by on the old clock that sat on his mantel. Like a stone gargoyle that was mounted to stand the test of time and guard a Gothic cathedral, he remained still and solid.
I should say goodbye and leave, but my feet were rooted to the thick rug.
He slowly rose to his feet and turned his back on me as he approached his desk.
I stared at that muscular back, seeing concrete that was bulletproof. The muscles that hugged his spine were so tight as they carried all his weight.
He grabbed a decanter and filled two glasses with scotch before he returned to the armchair and placed them on the coffee table. “Sit.” He nodded to the couch near him, his elbow returning to the armrest so his fingers could rest against his hard face.
I took a seat in the corner closest to him, feeling the tension increase tenfold. I stared at the glass sitting there waiting for me, but I didn’t take it since it was only three in the afternoon.
He grabbed his, took a drink, and then set it on the table next to his armchair.
“Scotch for breakfast?”
“I prefer it to coffee. Much smoother.”
I looked at the glass for a moment before I grabbed it and downed it in one go.
One eyebrow lifted slightly in gentle surprise, but the rest of his face retained its hardness. “You drink scotch.”
“Sometimes.” I returned the glass to the coffee table.
He didn’t interrogate me like he said he would. Just let me feel the pressure of his presence.
There was a tightness in my chest, a mixture of excitement and guilt and sorrow. When Bolton said he wanted an open marriage, I hadn’t thought of Theo and grown anxious for that prospect, but now that I was with him…I entertained the idea. “So…how about that dinner?”
When I arrived at the restaurant, he was already there.
He sat at a table by the window, covered in a white tablecloth, a single candle burning low in the center. It was a nicer place, but he wore a long-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans like he didn’t care.
I liked that he didn’t care.
I stared at him before he noticed me, seeing the way his massive body took up the chair, the way he looked out the window and stared at the people outside, his eyes dark like the night.
I hadn’t been nervous like this in a long time. Bolton had left for a mission, so he was out of the house and elsewhere…and I didn’t know where he would sleep that night. I had no problem being alone and sleeping in our bed by myself while he was gone, but now it hit different.
I approached the table, and he turned to look at me, his eyes slowly dropping down my body to study the way my curves filled out the dress. He didn’t rise to pull out the chair for me like a gentleman.
I liked that too.
I set my clutch on the end of the table and felt my heart try to jump out of my chest.