Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The thought that something could happen to him … I couldn’t bear that.
He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of my lips. “I swear,” he said softly, then went to the other side and did the same. “I’ll be fine. Besides, Thatcher is going to be with me.”
I wouldn’t lie; that did give me a touch of comfort. I might never want to be in the same room as his brother again in this lifetime, but he had one redeeming quality—he loved his brother. It was the only slightly human thing I’d seen in his eyes.
“Wilder said something about a man named Presley and seemed concerned,” I said, needing reassurance that whoever that was wouldn’t hurt Sebastian.
He nodded. “Yeah, well, Gage Presley isn’t someone people want to cross. He’s an unhinged son of a bitch. But Thatch is a psychopath. It’s an even playing field with the two, I’d wager.”
That was the only thing easing my mind.
I’d wanted to go, too, but Sebastian had said I wasn’t allowed. Everything had changed for me in the past five days, but it’d felt like more time had passed. Being alone in the cabin had given us time to get to know each other. Everything I’d learned about Sebastian only made me fall more in love with him. I had found even the bad things weren’t really so bad, or perhaps my feelings for him just outweighed the rest.
Thatcher walked out of the door behind us and tilted his head toward the driveway, but said nothing as he passed.
He’d bolted from the vehicle the moment we arrived, and I’d not seen him since. I’d assumed he had to go to the bathroom, but he’d been gone too long for that.
“We have to go, Sebastian,” a deep voice called from the black Escalade.
It was the man who had picked us up at the airport. His name was King, and he was the main reason my concern had gone to full-blown fear. He was worried. The hard lines and grim expression he’d held the entire ride here made me realize this was a bigger deal than they’d let on.
Sebastian’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched. “I’ve got to go,” he told me, then pulled me in close for a kiss.
I slid my hands up his chest and clung to the warmth of his body. He groaned as he slowly pulled back, giving me one last look before letting me go and turning to walk away. I stood there, watching him leave down the driveway. The tall, attractive man who stood at the open driver’s side shifted his gaze from me to Sebastian before getting inside. King was older than him. He seemed to be closer to Thatcher’s and Wilder’s age. They were all there in the vehicle with him.
A hand touched my upper arm and squeezed gently. “Come on in. I’ve got some cupcakes made, and we are gonna open us a bottle of wine,” Maeme told me.
I managed a nod but waited until Sebastian glanced back at me before getting inside the back of the SUV with Wilder. Turning, I let Maeme lead me into the house.
It was a lovely home. The type you’d see on a Southern Living magazine cover. It fit her. This was exactly the kind of place I’d have expected the classy older woman to live in. My Grams would love it—at least, she would have before. Now, well, it would just depend on the day.
When I stepped inside the house, the inviting scent of vanilla met my nose. It smelled of baking and comfort. A petite blonde woman walked into the foyer, wearing a pink gingham apron. She gave me a soft smile, seeming to understand what I was feeling, although I’d never met her before.
“I thought perhaps brownies would be good too,” she said, glancing at Maeme. “They should be done in twenty minutes.”
“Brownies are always good,” she agreed. “Royal, this is Capri,” she informed me. “Capri, this is Royal.”
The name caused me to gasp slightly, and I studied her more closely now. She reminded me of a magical pixie or perhaps a Disney princess. This could not be the same woman who was connected to Thatcher. I’d expected tattoos and piercings. Perhaps the same darkness in her eyes. Not … her.
She stepped forward, looking uncertain but holding a sweet smile. My reaction to her was probably coming off as rude, I realized. Trying to gather myself from the surprise, I returned her smile.
“I’m sorry. I …” How did I say this? You’re not what I expected? Thatcher is unbalanced, and you look … breakable? “You aren’t what I was expecting,” I said apologetically.
A soft tinkling laugh followed my explanation as her eyes danced with amusement. “Because of Thatcher,” she replied.
I nodded. No use in lying about it.