Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
As soon as that record executive heard me sing at the karaoke bar, my mother saw a paycheck in place of her daughter. I wasn’t mad at my mother. For the most part, she protected me, but she wasn’t a mom—she was a manager. But she was a manager who ensured I was safe.
Unlike others who put their kids in danger by letting them play dress up and attend bars with men old enough to be their grandfathers, my mom ensured I did my homework and ate properly. She didn’t push me to grow up too fast just to produce music so we never experienced poverty again. I don’t blame her. I was our family’s hope to escape our circumstances and experience security.
Twenty-five, and I’ve never done something just for fun. Everything is for my mother’s agenda. During our last conversation, she told me I was crazy for walking away from a multi-million-dollar record contract. At this point in the game, money means nothing.
I miss her with every fiber of my being, but a part of me is relieved that I’m free of my jail cell. With her gone, I finally got rid of the shackles she placed on me. Fuck, that makes me a horrible person, but it’s hard to be a loving daughter when your life belonged to your mother.
I have more money now than I can spend in three lifetimes. My sister will have the freedom to be who she is. Jude will do what she wants, not what others tell her.
I turn off the shower and get dressed. When I run downstairs fifteen minutes later, I stop in my tracks. Leaning against the doorframe in a leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and faded blue jeans is Gunner Shaw.
Chapter 5
Gunner
“This is a little insane.” Cash’s eyes are wide on the windshield of the Roadster as we make our way along the cliffside road.
“Everything I do is a little insane. It’s part of my charm.” I wink at her. She looks good nestled in the passenger seat of my car like she’s meant to be there. The girl is so beautiful that she takes my damn breath away, and women rarely turn my head. “Besides, if you haven’t seen the sunrise from the top of a mountain in a classic sports car, you haven’t lived.”
“Is that so?” She looks out her window, worry tracing her features.
I rub a hand absently over my chest because her uncertain look cuts straight to my heart like a knife. The emotion is foreign because, other than my mother, I’ve never cared how a woman felt in my entire damn life. My transactions with them have been brief, two people mutually agreeing to use each other to scratch an itch. I want to scratch every part of Cash, but I also want to know everything about her. What makes her happy, and what makes her tick.
“We’re almost there,” I say, tempted to pull over and fuck her until the only thing in her pretty little head is the afterglow of a mind-altering orgasm.
“Oh, my God.” Her mouth opens, and her eyes widen as we turn into the eastern horizon. The clouds part, and the first streaks of morning light peek through, settling on the planes of her face. I pull into the first spot and turn off the ignition.
“This is stunning.”
“The most spectacular view I’ve ever seen.” My eyes are on her. “Come over here.”
Her head turns to me, surprise turning to a smile as she realizes I’ve brought a few warm blankets and throw pillows from my apartment. “I’ve seen the sun rise plenty of times, but I’ve never had a morning date before.”
Pleasure warms her voice and sends lightning bolts of desire to my dick. I’ve had trouble controlling my body’s reaction to her from the second her eyes landed on mine, but having her so damn close in my space is another kind of hell entirely. A fucking sexy kind. If I don’t fuck her soon, my balls may go from blue to purple to withering right off.
“Glad to pop your morning cherry.”
“It’s the only cherry you’ll be popping,” she says with a wide smile on her striking face. Her skin turns a shade of pink as she giggles uncomfortably and swats at my chest. “Why are you up so early, anyway? Didn’t you close the bar?”
“Do it every night. Or morning.” I shrug, playing with a strand of her hair. “Haven’t slept yet, actually. Most nights, I watch the sun come up with a cup of coffee and a guitar in my hand. I write best at night.”
“You write music?” Her voice lifts in surprise.
“Have since I was a kid. Kind of hard not to when your mom is Loretta Shaw.”
“Do you sing too?”
“Not if I don’t have to. I can hold a tune, but I don’t have that performer gene Mama has. Writing music is where my talents lie. It helps me decompress and figure out my life. I guess you could say it’s cheap therapy. I also don’t have a television or an iPad or anything like that, so—”