Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Right. A bomb. In my car.
I was back. Focused on the issue at hand. Not a half-naked Wilder.
“Yeah. My head isn’t hurting now,” I replied, trying not to look at his chest. But I swore there was a tattoo on his left rib cage. I wanted to check it out. See what it was. Ask him when he had gotten it.
“I made some grilled cheese. Want one?” he asked. “You need to eat.”
I needed a distraction. I stood up and walked toward the kitchen side of the cave we were in.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
He nodded, still watching me as if I was about to pass out at any minute and he might need to run and catch me. The only lightheadedness we might need to worry about here was the hot, shirtless man teasing me with a view. One I hadn’t seen but once, and that had been nine years ago. That view had gotten more well defined with thicker, corded arms and a freaking tattoo I wanted to stare at but couldn’t without being caught.
“What about something to drink? We have water, soda, and beer,” he offered.
“Water is good, but I can get it,” I said, walking around the counter to see he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants.
Sweet Jesus, I had to be sleeping. This was not real. There was no way this man was walking around shirtless in gray sweatpants.
“I was hot, after the shower,” he said.
My eyes snapped back up to his face. Oops.
“Oh,” I muttered, not sure what to say to that as my face heated from the fact that he’d seen me checking him out. I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t complaining,” I added, then flashed him a smile before opening the fridge to get out a bottle of fancy water.
Holding it up, I looked at him. “This looks pricey.”
He shrugged, and his broad shoulders drew me in. “The Shephards. You know how they are …”
The way his voice trailed off at that last bit made me assume he was referring to Sebastian and me dating for a while. No need to be awkward about it. He’d married my stepsister. I had only dated his friend’s younger brother … wait.
“Sebastian. He’s … one of you,” I said slowly as I let it sink in. I’d dated him seriously. He’d gotten on one knee and asked me to marry him. And had assured me that all those things people had said about their families were rumors.
“Yeah, he is. I was surprised when Thatch said Sebastian hadn’t told you. Since he had proposed. I guess I kind of thought you knew and just never talked about it.”
One would think. Getting angry with a guy who had asked me to marry him and not told me he was in the Mafia was pointless. I’d turned him down, and it had been years ago. But I was still slightly miffed.
“I suggest that when you propose to a woman again, you mention this to her. The Mafia thing. She should know.”
He turned back to the grilled cheese. “Sylvia knew. I told her before we got married.”
Okay, now, I was stunned, and as stupid as it was, I felt betrayed again. Even though they had been married, I had always felt like the connection I had with Wilder was deeper than what they had. If I had been the one to marry him, I would have done everything in my power to keep him. I would have fought for us.
I walked over to the small table, needing to get a grip. There was no need to be upset about this now. It was the past. Still, it felt as if I’d been kept in the dark. Not trusted. It stung. Pulling out a chair, I sat down and opened my water.
A plate with a grilled cheese with the edges cut off was set in front of me. I looked up at Wilder, who seemed like he was going to say something. But he didn’t. He just stared at me for a moment. The pulse in his neck caught my attention and then the way his neck flexed as he swallowed.
He turned and walked back to the stove.
“You cut off the crust,” I said, glancing back at the grilled cheese.
“You don’t like the crust,” he replied.
That did things to my chest that I wished it hadn’t. “Yeah, but you remembered.”
He stilled, then looked back at me over his shoulder. “I remember everything,” he said to me before putting another grilled cheese on a plate.
“Is that a requirement in the Mafia? To remember all details,” I asked.
Wilder turned and walked over to the table. “It helps. But that’s not why I remembered how you liked your grilled cheese.”
My eyes fell to his tattoo again, and I was going to ask, but first, I wanted to hear what he was about to say. Tearing my attention off his abs, I lifted my eyes back to his face. “Then, why did you?”