Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
But then I bit my lip. “Should I tell him to go?”
English rolled her eyes. “Go fuck that husband of yours.” She pushed me toward him.
“You’re all sure?”
“Go!” Lark and Whitley said together.
“I love you, bitches,” I cried.
Then I stumbled through the crowd until I came to a halt just outside of the line of people. Camden’s eyes snapped to mine. I was sure that I looked like an intoxicated fool, but just the sight of him set a trail of fire down my spine.
“Hey,” I said, stepping toward him. “Thought you were going out for a drink.”
“I closed down the bar, darling,” he said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Then I came to find you.”
“I thought I was supposed to find you.”
“I’m impatient.” He pulled me in for a hard kiss.
“Then let’s go.”
He gestured for me to precede him. My heel caught on absolutely nothing, and I almost went tumbling face-first into the doorway. Camden was there right away, catching me and keeping me from falling.
“You’re obliterated,” he said with humor in his voice.
“I don’t know the last time I was this drunk,” I said as he helped me to the elevator. Once inside, I leaned back against it. My head was spinning. “Maybe not since… ever.”
Now that I was out of the pounding of the club, I felt weak and dizzy and totally fucked up. I’d thought it was only Whitley and English who were that drunk. Lark and I were practically professionals. But here and now, I couldn’t even think straight.
“How much did you have to eat before this?” Camden asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t remember. Had I eaten dinner? Or lunch? I’d definitely had something to eat. A lettuce wrap of some sort. “Um…”
The elevator dinged open to our penthouse. Our penthouse.
“Come on. Let me make you some food. You’re going to be hungover as shit tomorrow.”
“I’m not hungry,” I told him as my stomach grumbled slightly.
He arched an eyebrow and waited.
“Fine,” I muttered and followed him into the kitchen.
He sat me down at the kitchen bar and rummaged through the refrigerator. He plopped down a large glass of water. “Drink that.”
Then he went back to work. My eyes could barely process what I was seeing as I sipped on the water he’d given me. Camden Percy was… cooking.
I blinked and blinked again. But, no, he was still there, cooking me eggs on the stovetop. I’d never seen him cook before. I hadn’t thought that he even knew how. He usually went out for food or had a chef come in to cook dinners.
“You’re cooking,” I said.
“I do have some rudimentary life skills.”
I laughed. “I’ve never seen you cook.”
“It doesn’t happen very often.”
“Jeans and cooking, all in one day. Be careful, Camden, or someone might think that you’re normal.”
His eyes slid to me. “No one would ever think that.”
And he was right. How could they? Not when he was back in his Tom Ford suit with dark eyes that knew all and a sternness born of deep emotional trauma in his formative years. Camden Percy was power and dominance.
And he was cooking me scrambled eggs. A duality.
He set a plate with eggs and toast in front of me and then one for himself. Then he took the chair next to mine and sat down.
“You’re going to eat with me?” I asked, incredulous.
“I’m a bit drunk myself,” he admitted.
Not that I could see it on him. Not even a little.
“Eat,” he commanded.
And so… I ate.
Even the toast. I didn’t usually bother with refined carbs, but I clearly needed some sustenance to soak up all the alcohol in my system. By the end of the meal, I was feeling almost human again.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you eating bread again.”
He collected the empty plates, washed them off, and put them in the dishwasher. Then he leaned against the counter to stare up at me.
“You’re not sick again, are you?” he asked softly, gently.
I stilled under his look. Then I slowly shook my head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He sighed. “Okay. I just… you keep losing weight. And don’t get me wrong, you look fucking gorgeous, but I don’t want to neglect your past problems.”
“It’s not like before,” I assured him. “I promise.”
“You’d tell me if it was?”
I bit my lip and then nodded.
“Okay.”
Then he stepped around and held his hand out to me. I took it and unsteadily stood on my heels. He shook his head at me before removing each of my heels, one at a time. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me up the flight of stairs as if I weighed nothing at all, and set me down on my side of the bed. My side. Then he untied the bow at the back of my shirt and dropped the halter to the ground. He found the zipper on my skirt and let it follow.