Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Do you really like it?”
“That’s an understatement.” He grabs the steering wheel, his knuckles showing white, as though rage or something else is working its way through him. “You’re so beautiful, Fiona. So sexy.”
“I’ve never been called any of that before,” I whisper. “I never thought I could be.”
He grinds his teeth. “That’s a shame, a damn shame. I wish you could see yourself how I see you.”
My heart flutters as he pulls out of the parking lot, joining the traffic.
I didn’t plan on telling him about my parents, but now that I have, I’m glad. His reaction makes me think of what an amazing father he’d make, so accepting, so patient, even if he can be gruff sometimes.
“So, where are you taking me?” I ask, keen to move on to less serious topics.
Though I am curious about what he alluded to, the thing he’s going to tell me on our third date.
He mentioned it has something to do with childhood trauma. Is it something about his dad? He talked about his mom having cancer, but he didn’t mention his father.
He looks over, smirking again, reminding me to live in the here and now and forget about the past’s messiness. At least for the time being.
“Somewhere fit for a queen,” he says.
“Oh, so that’s what I am?” I giggle. “I always thought of myself as the frumpy princess, bitching about the queen behind her back.”
He laughs, grinning. My hands completely relax. I stop throttling my bag.
The nerves are still there, sniping from the periphery, but I don’t have to be held captive by them.
Maybe, just for a little while, I can let go of it all.
But what about later?
What if he wants a kiss, or…or more?
I swallow, pushing those concerns away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Felix
As I drive through the city toward the restaurant, I think about the scene in the motel parking lot.
I think about the sadness in my woman’s voice, but it was a diffused sort of tragedy, as though she’s come to terms with what happened.
But I could sense it, the same sadness that touches me whenever I think about my dad, my childhood. I told Fiona I’d reveal my secret on our third date, and I meant it, not that I think it’ll make her want me. It might even scare her away.
Mom says I can’t blame myself. I was a kid.
But sometimes, it just doesn’t feel true.
It was so difficult not to kiss her after she told me about her parents. I wanted to lean over and softly lay my lips against hers, but then I started thinking about what would happen after the kiss.
Would I be able to restrain myself, or would I drag her from the car into the motel room, ruining the tender scene as I unleash all my lust-filled fierceness?
Now, she sighs softly, looking out the window at the high rises and the shiny expensive cars.
“What is it?” I ask.
She looks over, smiling gently. She looks so maternal when she smiles like that. It’s easy to imagine her smiling in the same way at one of our children, a smile that will tell them they don’t have to worry.
She’s here. She’s going to support them. She’s not going to let anybody hurt them.
And if they try, she’ll call their father, and I’ll make sure everything’s okay.
“I’m just not used to being in this fancy part of town,” she says. “I guess it makes me feel like I don’t belong.”
I let out a breath through my teeth. I have to keep my teeth gritted, or I’ll end up telling her that she does belong here and in even better places.
My mystery girl will live in the best apartments and houses, wear the best clothes…whatever that means to her. They don’t have to be brand names. I want to give my curvy woman space to grow.
“Do you want to live in this sort of area?” I ask.
She shrugs, making her breasts sway. I struggle to focus. I can’t ruin every conversation we have by turning into a wild dog, but she’s so mouthwateringly vivacious, every movement triggering a torrent of impulses inside of me. I wonder if she knows how expressive she is.
“I don’t care,” she murmurs. “I don’t have big dreams of living in a fancy house or anything like that.”
Turning the corner, I spot the restaurant at the end, the front-it up with bright lights and a red carpet leading into the building. Luckily there’s some traffic, meaning we don’t have to cut our conversation short.
“What do you want, then, when you think of the future?” I ask.
She looks at me for a long time. For a crazy second, I think she’s going to tell me she wants everything I want. I think she will tell me she’s been fantasizing about having my babies. She wants the life I can’t stop thinking about.