Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“You know things in our dreams represent bigger things in our lives,” I reminded him.
He let out a long breath. “Yeah. It doesn’t take a PhD to interpret this one.”
“I think you need a break, Zane.” It wasn’t the first or even fiftieth time I’d suggested it.
“I’m taking a break. I’m going home to see my family.”
I closed my eyes and reminded myself to stay calm. “Visiting Barlo isn’t a break. Not for you. Not anymore.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t argue this. “I’m supposed to be in New York for those interviews after the Georgia trip,” he said, ignoring what I’d said. “And then we have the next European leg…”
“The interviews can be rescheduled. And I think being in the city right now is a spectacularly bad idea unless we significantly beef up the protection team, which we’re going to have to do anyway before Amsterdam.”
Even with a more robust team, I wouldn’t feel comfortable moving him through Manhattan. There were too many places crowds would be able to push in or unvetted strangers would have easier access to him. What I really wanted was to take him somewhere secluded and take time to regroup while he had some much-needed decompression time.
“What about the Boundary Waters?” I suggested, naming an area in Minnesota he’d read about recently in an article. “You said you wanted to check it out one day. Kenji can probably find us a rental—”
He huffed out a laugh. “November in northern Minnesota? Have you forgotten I’m a Georgia boy?”
“You like the cold. Sweatshirts and pajama pants are your favorite outfit.”
“I like the chilly. Not the frozen.”
He had a point. Northern Minnesota was harsher than where I’d grown up in Montana. “Fine. We’ll find a private island in the Caribbean—”
Zane made a noise of dismissal. “No. I don’t want more time in the sun. Not after the burn I got playing in Miami.”
“I still blame the makeup team,” I muttered, remembering the homicidal rage I’d wanted to go into when I’d realized just how badly an oversight had been made. Poor Zane had been in agony for three nights in the hotel suite, and I’d finally insisted on bringing in medical professionals to treat him.
“What I really want is to do my job,” he said, shifting off me as if he’d made a decision. “And that means going to New York for the interviews.”
Don’t say it, I thought. For fuck’s sake, don’t—
“And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”
I stared at him while my body began to tremble with the need to spew my opinions all over the fucking place. To tell him he was definitely the fuck not fine.
But… and here was my dirty little secret… I loved him too much to deny him anything.
Zane wanted to go to Barlo to see his family.
So we would go to Barlo.
Zane wanted to go to New York to do his job.
So we would go to New York.
I moved off the bed and tried to get myself under control, tried to keep my hands to myself instead of grabbing him and pulling him back against my body where he fucking belonged.
“Okay,” I forced myself to say.
Zane looked awkward as he stood barefoot on the lush carpet and shifted from foot to foot. For some reason, he looked tiny in his oversized clothes. “Okay?”
I nodded and clenched my jaw. “It’s fine, right? You said it’s fine, so it’ll be fine.”
He frowned. I could tell he wanted to know why I was suddenly agreeing with him instead of arguing with him.
Too bad for him, because I could never tell him that if I stayed in that room with him for even three more seconds, I would do or say something both of us would regret.
So, instead of staying in that bedroom and playing with fire, I moved past him and opened the door to the main room of the suite.
Landry’s head snapped up from where he’d been reading one of the style magazines from the coffee table. “Zane okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” I growled. “He’s totally fine. I’m sure he’s waiting for you to get back there and calm him down.”
Landry tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m not sure he is, but okay. Hey, Ryan? I apologize if I’ve, ah… provoked you at all.”
I scowled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I strode past the supermodel to my bedroom and closed the door behind me, then stepped back to press my ass and shoulders against the cool wooden surface of the door while I focused on not having a stroke.
Breathe in for four… hold it for four… breathe out for four… hold it for four…
Box breathing. Apparently, Navy SEALs used it before missions. It did fuck all for calming me down, though, which left me wondering what the hell the SEALs did when their stupid breathing techniques failed to put them in the right frame of mind for a mission.