Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Maestro gave her a sympathetic grin. Preacher and Sabelia had a strange chemistry between them. Enemies, but the physical attraction between them couldn’t be denied. He had no idea why Preacher hadn’t acted on it. He certainly ran men off in the bar if they made a play for her.
“I’ll buy your cup of tea, Sabelia.” He poured sympathy into his voice, knowing it would irritate the shit out of Preacher.
Sure enough, Preacher looked up, glaring at Maestro. “She doesn’t need you to pay for her fucking tea, Maestro.”
It was all Maestro could do not to burst out laughing. “Just helping the lady out.” Preacher didn’t swear much. When they were children, he looked after Lana like she was his child. He couldn’t prevent the abuse she suffered, but he made certain all the kids down in that torture chamber of a basement knew Lana was under his protection. He didn’t want them swearing around her, and they respected his orders—for the most part.
“Don’t annoy me,” Preacher warned.
Sabelia rolled her eyes. “I live to annoy you. Don’t get all grumpy because someone wants to do something nice for me.” Her implication was that Preacher didn’t do nice things for her.
“I’m never grumpy,” Preacher denied. “Get to work before your boss comes in and finds you flirting outrageously with your customers.”
Color swept under Sabelia’s pale skin. Her long lashes fluttered as she glared at Preacher. “I don’t flirt with customers. That would be you.”
“Sabelia,” Savage interrupted. “I find this all very entertaining, but if I don’t get coffee soon, I’ll be the grumpy one.”
“Coming right up, Savage,” Sabelia swept past Preacher, going straight to the coffeepot.
Maestro’s phone vibrated. He pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced down, inwardly wincing as he read the text message from Azelie.
I had a wonderful time with you, Andrii. I’m sorry I hurt you, but I can’t keep the clothes and jewelry. You can pick the box up at the coffee shop. I am keeping the coat. I looked on the website at Label 287 but couldn’t find the amount I owe you for it, so I’ve emailed the designer asking. I’ll pay you back as soon as possible. Thank you again for a wonderful time, but clearly, it’s best if we don’t see each other again.
FIVE
Two days had gone by since her date with Andrii, and Azelie found herself more upset than she had realized she could be when she barely knew the man. She hadn’t gone back to the coffee shop after giving the box of clothing, shoes and jewelry to the owners, Shaila and David Manger. They promised to text her when Andrii came in to pick up the box. The text had come in that morning.
She still hadn’t gone to the coffee shop because she didn’t want to answer any questions. She knew the merry widows would ask her how her date had gone. What was there to say? He was perfect until he wasn’t? She’d blown it, but she didn’t know how? She felt sad. Bereft. The intensity of her emotions made no sense and raised another red flag for her. She had no business dating a man who brought out such overwhelming emotions in her.
Her phone dinged, letting her know she had a text message. She didn’t want to look because she knew it wouldn’t be from Andrii, or worse, it might be, and then she would have hope. She knew she was ruled by emotion, but she’d tried very hard to be more logical. Swearing off Andrii was logical. She couldn’t prevent herself from looking. The compulsion was too strong.
Coming up now. Open the door for me.
Her heart stuttered. Andrii. Already in the building. How did he get the code? He was on his way up to her door, and she was dressed in her ridiculous but very comfortable tank and drawstring flannels. She was barefoot and had no idea where her slippers were.
She caught up her phone and tried to hastily text to stop him from coming to her apartment. Her home was too small, and he would leave his presence everywhere. His scent would linger. She would dream of him, not that she didn’t already dream of him. Erotic dreams. She didn’t know which were worse, nightmares or erotic dreams that left her burning for him.
Before she could text, he knocked. She found herself hurrying to the door, one hand on the dead bolt.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Andrii,” she said without opening the door. Her voice sounded strangled. Husky. Her heart pounded with trepidation and excitement.
“It’s the only idea, Solnyshkuh. Unlock the door.”
His voice. Soft but commanding. Compelling. Goose bumps whispered along her skin and crept down her spine. She was so susceptible to him. Her hand was on the dead bolt almost of its own volition. Her brain wasn’t catching up.