Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I hate this time of year.” His eyes twinkled as he stared at her over his spoon. “At least, I did. You might’ve changed my mind.”
He slid the bite of stew between his chiseled lips, licking the utensil.
The temperature of her body rose several degrees.
Was he trying to be sexy? Or was it an involuntary reflex, like the salivation happening in her mouth?
Seriously, though. Why was he so beautiful?
His facial hair was thick but not long. Nothing like the beard he wore in Texas. Neatly trimmed, soft, and tidy, the length lay somewhere between stubble and a full-on beard. The scruff took those boyish dimples and made them so manly. She loved it. She really did.
Two small pink scars glowed amid the tattoos on his arm. One in front and one in back, they marked the pathway of the bullet he’d taken in Texas. If he hadn’t stayed at her side that day, that bullet might’ve gone through her.
He wore his jeans with the button unfastened. Nothing underneath. No shirt. A lot of ink. Tousled, just-been-fucked hair. Lethal from head to toe. Sexy as fuck.
The man looked like he’d been playing football his entire life. A linebacker with a solid eight-pack and enough aggression to push back an army. Beneath all that brawn and those adorable dimples was a guy she could have a beer with, or tear up a dance floor with, or run into a gunfight with, or share a dozen orgasms with. He was the most dangerous person she knew, and maybe, just maybe he was the safest.
“Thank you.” She smiled softly.
“For the orgasms?”
“For spending Christmas with me.”
“I should be thanking you. Earlier tonight, I was sitting in a pub alone, feeling woefully sorry for myself.” He slurped down another spoonful of stew. “This is our first Christmas together. The first of forever.”
“Whoa. Forever is a long—”
“Forever.” The sharpness in his tone cut through her. “I get all of you, Lydia. Every holiday. Every non-holiday. Every damn thing for the rest of your life.”
She straightened, stunned, disturbed, and strangely aroused.
“Having second thoughts? It’s too late for that.” He pointed the spoon at her. “You opened that door, knowing what you were letting in. You welcomed me into your bed, knowing what kind of lover I was. A celibate one, in fact, until I met you. Because I don’t do casual sex. I’m a partner for life. A dedicated, faithful, protective, possessive, jealous, obsessive partner. Welcome to my world.” He flashed her a wolfish smile, all teeth and somewhat scary, and returned to his bowl. “This is deadly. Seriously, the best stew I’ve ever eaten. What’s in it?”
Whirling, she opened her mouth and tried to untie her tongue. His deranged declaration tangled her up and strung her out. But after several hard swallows and a calming breath, she knew he was right. She knew exactly who and what she was letting into her life when she told Mike to unlock the door.
“Mutton chops,” she said. “Potatoes, onions, water, and magic. It’s Shannon O’Sullivan’s recipe. She always made her homemade stew when it snowed. It warmed us down to our toes, like we were somehow imbibing some of her hardiness, her glow. I think it’s because she made it with love. That was her magic ingredient.” Her chest warmed with the memory. “I have a lot to tell you, Cole. I don’t know where to start.”
“Mike is your brother. Let’s start there.”
“We met twelve years ago. I was fifteen. He was sixteen.” Her shoulders loosened, her love for Mike all-consuming. “My mother was a Russian swallow. I don’t remember her. I was two-years-old when she died. I was born in Russia, but my dad raised me in Chicago. He was American.”
His gaze dipped to the tattoo on her chest, the symbol of her mother. “You really are Russian.”
“My bloodline, yes. But I never lived there. I’m American.”
“And Mike?”
“He was raised in this house by his mother, Shannon. He didn’t know our dad, never met him. Mike and I didn’t know about each other until Dad died.”
“How did you find out?”
“My dad named Mike’s mother as my legal guardian should something happen to him. I was fifteen when a lawyer showed up at my door and told me that my dad was gone, I had a brother, and this woman I didn’t know would be my guardian. I was uprooted from Chicago and sent to Dublin, and man, oh man, I was angry. I was an angry, grieving, rebellious teenager with a penchant for stealing. And suddenly, I was Shannon O’Sullivan’s problem. You know what she did?”
“She beat your ass?”
“No.” She laughed. “She loved me. That’s what she did. She loved me with every breath in her body. And so did her son. A brother I never knew I had. They took me into their humble home, made sure I had everything I needed, and they gave me love.”