Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“When have I ever cared what anyone thinks?” I ask. “Besides, I’ll gladly be the laughingstock of corporate America if it means pissing off that insufferable bastard.”
A smirk claims her rose-bud mouth, and in that moment, I waste zero time taking her into my arms. Her body is warm and pliant in my embrace, and my palms skim the addictive landscape of her curves.
“Also, I can’t wait until he finds out each and every cent of the proceeds is going into your name.”
She leans away until our eyes lock. “You actually are crazy.”
“Crazy about you, yes.” I drown myself in a lungful of her cashmere-soft, summer-sweet scent.
Sophie’s gaze softens. “Why are you so good to me?”
“Because I see you for who you are,” I say. “And I’m in love with you, Sophie. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved and the only woman I ever want to love.”
Peering up at me through a fringe of dark lashes, expression equally vulnerable and strong, she says, “I love you too.”
I crush her pink lips, greedy, our tongues clashing and my hands in her hair.
So long as I live, I’ll never let her go.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have faith in you,” she says when we come up for air.
“How could you? The last man you thought you loved let you down in the worst of ways.”
She bites her bottom before slipping her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck—a sweet surrender.
“Please tell me you’re coming home.” My voice is low against her ear as I breathe in the sweet scent I’ve missed every minute of every hours of every fucking day since she left.
“I’ll come home,” she says. “But I want to start fresh. No contract. I want to date you. Really date you.”
“We were always dating,” I say. “It was always real to me, contract or no.”
“You know what I mean.” Her mouth pulls up at the corners.
“But yes. Anything you want.”
She deserves a proper courtship. An actual proposal with a real yes.
I place her on the edge of my desk, pulling her t-shirt above her head before diving in to taste her cashmere-soft skin. Her legs hook around my hips as she guides me closer, and in our haste, we knock over the cigar box, each carefully wrapped cigar spilling onto the floor.
She stops, her mouth moving as if she wants to say something, but I silence her with an impatient kiss. All I want is to be deep inside of her, to have the steady drum of her tortured heart beating against mine, and later, after I’ve devoured every inch of her, I’ll enjoy a cigar on my bedroom balcony, overlooking the garden our future children will run through many years from now.
Finally, something worth celebrating.
Fifty-Eight
Sophie
Present
I wake in his bed the next morning.
Correction: our bed.
His half is vacant, the covers pulled up, nice and neat. I roll to my side with blurry eyes that come into focus on a vase filled to the hilt with blooming pink roses. Their soft scent invades my lungs, and when I sit up, I spot an engraved plaque on the crystal.
To Edie, Yours now, yours forever … All my love, Pierce.
Trey’s story comes to mind, the one he shared in Martha’s Vineyard about his mother’s broken leg and never understanding his father’s obsessive devotion until he met me. Part of me wonders if that was his way of telling me he loved me.
The bedroom door swings open, and when I glance toward the doorway, Trey stands with a breakfast tray, hair messy and broad shoulders covered in his favorite navy robe.
“Breakfast in bed. Nice touch.” I climb back beneath the covers, a delicious soreness between my thighs from last night’s triple encore production, and pull the sheet beneath my arms.
He comes around to my side, resting the tray on the nightstand before propping the pillows behind me.
“Good morning.” He deposits a kiss onto my forehead.
“Thank you for the flowers … I don’t know how I didn’t hear you getting up and doing all of this …”
“You were out cold.” He places the tray in my lap and takes one of the two coffees before getting in beside me. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”
I take a sip. “Someone wore me out last night.”
“And someone has every intention of doing the same again tonight.”
Retrieving a small remote from his nightstand, he presses a button and the curtains part, flooding the expansive bedroom suite with morning light and a picture-perfect view of the gardens. In a crystal-clear daydream, I envision chasing our children through the rose bushes, laughter and teasing and tackling. Grass stains and tickles. Picnics and board games.
When we first started this, I couldn’t imagine Trey as a father … but everything has changed.
One thing at a time, though. We’ve called off our engagement, though I told him to save the trillion-cut ring. We officially have a past, as rocky and unconventional as it may be. He’s my present. And our future is on the horizon.