Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“The mean streets won’t scare Greg. He’s probably already declared himself King of Hell’s Kitchen and bullied the local strays into being his henchmen. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s formed a gang and is plotting a takeover of the fish market three blocks over as we speak.”
Caroline laughs. “I hope so.” She pauses at the curb, glancing my way. “Should we swing by the fish market really quick, maybe? I mean, if I were a cat, I’d be drawn to the smell of fish market trash.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re going to the hotel and straight to bed. I’ll check the market once you’re safely on your way.”
“Bossy, bossy,” she mutters. “What if I don’t want to go straight to bed? What if I need to take a long shower, first?”
Imagining her naked and slick with soap and water makes my voice husky as I say, “Showers are good.”
“They are.” She shifts closer, until her breasts brush against my arm, inspiring my tenth or twentieth hard-on of the day. “Especially when you touch yourself under the spray while thinking of all the things a bad man did to you in his bed earlier tonight.”
I pull her in fast and tight, making her giggle as I lift her off her feet. “You’re evil,” I say, kissing her hard. “Pure, sexy evil.”
“I learned it from Greg,” she murmurs between kisses, making me laugh and sigh and curse myself for calling that fucking car.
It arrives far too soon, pulling up to the curb just as I’m setting Caroline back on her feet.
“Text me when you’re safe in the room,” I say, nodding hello to the driver before moving to open the back door.
“I will,” she says. “I had a wonderful time.”
“Me, too. I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night. And I’ll get us tickets to the Rockettes for Thursday, as obnoxiously close to the stage as possible.”
“Sounds perfect,” she says, pushing on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. Lingering there for a beat, she whispers, “Kayla said we should go for it, by the way, and forget about Vivian.”
“I forgot about her the moment I laid eyes on you.” When she pulls back, I add in a softer voice, “I forgot about every other woman on earth about five minutes later.”
“Good.” She beams up at me, her smile enough to take the edge off the cool breeze. “See you later, Leo Fenton.”
“Later, Caroline Cane.”
I shut the door behind her and stand on the curb, watching the car until it disappears around the corner, turning on Eighth Avenue.
Then, I start toward the fish market, grinning like a fool as I wander the empty streets. Even the horrific smell of the dumpster behind the shop and the rats that dart over my feet on my way out of the alley can’t harsh my vibe. Neither can the fact that I’m heading home without my runaway cat.
Greg is a survivor. He’ll be okay.
And I think even Satan is happy that I’ve finally met her…the woman I didn’t think existed, the one who’s meant for me.
I can’t wait to see her again, to make love to her again, to hear her voice and her laugh and to hang on every word that slips from her beautiful lips. I’m smitten, so drunk on falling-in-love chemicals that for the first time in a decade, I go to bed without checking my email.
I’m already brushing my teeth when the text from Caroline—Home safe, thanks again for a night I’ll never forget. Let me know if there’s any sign of Greg—pops through to my phone.
Smiling, I text back—Will do, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you again. Sleep well—and then set my phone to Do Not Disturb.
I leave it charging in the living room, and head to bed.
I sleep hard and dream of Caroline, remaining blissfully unaware of the shit storm erupting in the wider world until the next morning, when I wake to five emails, two dozen texts, and a handful of panicked voicemails.
twenty-one
. . .
Caroline
Something’s wrong.
When Grace, one of the junior production assistants, shows up with a camera crew to escort me to the spa, her energy is…weird. She won’t meet my gaze for more than a second or two, and when I ask if everything is okay, she exhales a semi-hysterical laugh and insists, “Oh yeah, fine. Totally fine,” in a tone that assures me everything is not “fine.”
Not fine at all…
I chew my lip as the city streets flash by outside our town car’s windows, wondering if my late return to the hotel last night was a bigger deal than I thought. But before I can ask Grace if I violated a curfew that I wasn’t aware of or something, my phone rings.
It blares, in fact, meaning it’s Kayla calling from the inn’s office phone, our emergency number. We only call each other from the office if something has gone hideously awry, and we need immediate troubleshooting assistance. And I know Kayla wouldn’t be calling while I’m out of town unless it was serious.