Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Despite all the things I’ve done, all the ways I allowed my father to shape me and my life, I’m strangely wonderful with her in my life. “It does,” I agree. “And we still didn’t plan the wedding.”
“I thought we decided we’d have it here, where we can share naughty memories while people act refined and proper.”
The corner of my mouth quirks. “As appealing as that idea is, I want you to have the wedding of your dreams.”
Her smile fades and she eases back to my shoulder—not a word spoken, not a dream revealed, the air thick with a shift in her mood.
“What just happened?” I ask, my hand settling on her head and stroking her hair.
“Nothing. I’m just happy to be home.”
“Alana,” I press. “What just happened?”
“Hmmm, well for one thing, I need to go to the bathroom.”
She rolls away swiftly and is off the end of the bed before I can stop her. I throw my feet off the side of the mattress, sitting up just in time to catch a momentary glimpse of her creamy white skin, and perfect body, as she disappears inside the bathroom and shuts the door. She doesn’t shut the door. That’s not what we do. What the fuck just happened? Does she not want to marry me? No, I think immediately. Her smile glistened like diamonds in the sky when I called her my future wife.
She must be back to her fear that she’ll bring the wrath of my father onto me.
But even that doesn’t feel right.
I stand and don’t even consider grabbing my clothes. This isn’t a time for barriers or doors. And yet, that is exactly what we have—a door between us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Damion
It crosses my mind as I stand in front of the bathroom door that something could have triggered a horrible memory of her kidnapping, and I’m gutted thinking about what that might be, how I might have caused her reaction. I knock on the door, and seconds tick by without a reply.
“Alana?”
The door swings open, and she stands there, a towel wrapped around her, her hand clenching it at her breast, as if it’s her much needed shelter, when less than an hour before, she was oblivious to her nakedness. It’s with mammoth willpower that I somehow resist the urge to pull her to me, not to touch her at all. “Why are you in there and I’m out here?”
“My dream wedding is you and me, here or someplace far away. Just you and me. Is that okay?” Her voice is raspy, affected. Whatever has led her to this point is not gentle, nor is it from the mind of a little girl I saw play fairytale games growing up.
I reach out and gently, tentatively, capture her free hand. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh God, no, Damion.” Her reserve falls away, and she steps into me, no hesitation in her hand as it rests on my chest. “You’re perfect. Everything tonight has been exactly what I needed. Thank you for being you, for always being there for me.”
“I wasn’t there for you for far too long. And I regret that.”
“Stop saying that. It’s the past. This is now. And we’ve talked about this. We had to grow up. If we had done that together, maybe we wouldn’t be here now. You’re my home, and you can’t possibly know what that means to me.”
“And yet, you’re not naked with me in our bed. Why, baby? What happened?”
“Nothing big or bad, I promise.” She reaches down and folds her hand around my cock, which is presently disobediently hard again. “And I don’t think you want to talk.”
“I do want to talk, which is why we’re going back to the bed, because if I stand here with your hand on my cock another moment, that’s not what’s going to happen.” I scoop her up, and her towel falls away, bubbles of delicate laughter floating from her perfect lips.
I settle her back on the bed and under the sheets with me on top of them, ensuring I don’t get distracted, which would be far too easy after she was just cradling my damn erection. “Talk to me.”
The smile fades from her lips, and she cuts her gaze. I decide the sheet barrier was a good idea, and I press my hand to her face and slide her gaze to mine. “Alana,” I say softly, the pinch of her expression telling a story I need her to turn into words.
“How do I plan the wedding of my dreams when I have no family to even invite?” The direness of her words only serves to highlight her genuine distress. “My dad is gone,” she continues. “My mother might as well be.” Her voice cracks. “Lord knows today drove that point home. And I’ve spent a lifetime living for them, working around the clock. I have no friends.”