Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say.
He kisses my hand and gives me a smile, but it’s not disarming at all. Maybe because his eyes are the same as Derek’s though nowhere near as warm.
“Elijah, my oldest brother,” Derek continues.
And another younger, carbon copy of Michael Steele but with gray eyes steps forward and abruptly pulls me into an embrace.
“All my brothers are flirts,” Grace warns, stage-whispering. “Except for Derek.”
Elijah Steele lifts me up a few inches and then sets me down with a deep chuckle before his eyes travel my face.
But those eyes also look cold.
“How are you, Chloe?” he asks.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, not quite ready to tell anyone how I am.
Elijah’s eyes meet Derek’s.
“Derek.”
“Eli.”
Elijah looks him over with a slight frown. “We must talk.”
“Mm hm,” Derek mutters.
My eyes bounce between them, but Grace breaks awkward silence by announcing, “This is Jonah.”
Eli moves out of the way.
My gaze moves to the next Steele sibling. Another dark-haired, suited, tall and incredibly handsome man. He and Derek look a lot alike, other than the eyes. Jonah’s are the same as Grace’s. He has shorter hair than Derek.
“Chloe.” Jonah hugs me quick and steps back. Instead of cold, his gaze and his demeanor seem indifferent.
“And Asher,” Derek gestures to the next guy.
He’s the only one not wearing a suit. The only blond man of the bunch. He’s in jeans, a black T-shirt, and motorcycle boots. He’s ripped with tattoo-covered muscles.
“Hey,” he says, and this Steele sibling’s eyes and demeanor aren’t cold or indifferent. They’re warm and traveling the length of me as he takes my hand into both of his. “Nice one, Derek.” His eyes point at my boobs as he presses his mouth to the top of my hand.
“Hello,” I answer softly, feeling uncomfortable.
Derek growls low in his throat. I reflexively pull my hand back for some reason.
The energy noticeably shifts in the vast solarium, which is dominated by the large table and also dripping with flowers and other plants in a riot of colors, coming down from a variety of hanging pots.
“Clearly one of the flirtiest of the flirters,” I try.
Everyone laughs except Derek and his mother, who I can see is watching me with scrutiny. There are also two tuxedoed men by the exit who don’t react, looking well-versed in blending into the surroundings. As this thought occurs to me, I realize I’ve just tried to manage the mood of the room, which is neither my responsibility nor my place. But it’s what I often do when there’s tension.
“I’m Naomi,” A dark-haired beauty with dark brown eyes greets, coming up behind Ash and hugging me. “So good to meet you!” she gushes.
“Hi Naomi,” I say, patting her back.
As soon as she releases me, Derek nabs my hand, and we walk to the opposite end of the table.
His mother stands.
Naomi didn’t greet Derek. Most of them didn’t.
“Baby, my mother, Shannon Steele.”
His mother was a big name in modeling and was also in a couple of older sitcoms I’ve seen. I might have been a little starstruck under different, more normal circumstances. She’s blonde, she’s still model thin, and has those striking gray eyes half of her children have. Grace looks a lot like her.
She has to be in her late fifties at minimum judging by the fact she’s been married for forty years, but she looks like she’s ten or fifteen years younger than that. She’s had work done on her face, the lip filler is evident, but whoever did it did a good job of it. Her neck and décolleté are both as line-free as her face. She has thick blonde hair that falls to her shoulders in beautiful curls, and she’s dressed in a red blazer and full, long red skirt. She has red gemstones in her lobes, at her throat and on one of her wrists.
She takes my hand daintily and gives me a sort of strange, pursed lip nod as her eyes bounce from me to her son.
“Derek, this is a surprise.” She tips her head to the side.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Happy Anniversary, mother,” he says and kisses her proffered cheek. “Happy Anniversary, Dad,” he tacks on without making eye contact with his father who is watching us from the other end of the long table with a cold expression.
“This must be a very special young lady to merit an invitation to this family brunch for our Ruby anniversary,” Shannon Steele says.
“Very special,” Derek replies in a husky tone, standing directly behind me, very close to my ear.
“Yes, rubies. Look at all the rubies!” Grace exclaims, leaning over and touching the gem on one of her mother’s ears. “Happy ruby anniversary, Mumsy and Daddy.”
“Thanks, littlest princess,” Mr. Steele says. “Why don’t we sit down. Now we can begin.”
The way he says it seems like what he really means is ‘get it over with’.