Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“She loves you.” For most people, it was as simple as that. They loved someone, they showed up. At least Becka had that influence in her life, even if the people who should have been there for her above all others...weren’t. He hesitated, but finally asked, “Have you told her yet?”
She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but seemed to change her mind and shook her head. “I’m getting kind of cold. Mind if we go back now?”
The opportunity slipped through his fingers like water. He couldn’t force her to open up to him. The fact she’d told him even as much as she had was a small miracle. It was progress, which was a positive sign. Though it might not be enough, it was a start.
Aaron could be a patient hunter when the situation called for it and the stakes were high enough.
With Becka, they’d never been higher.
CHAPTER NINE
BECKA WAS ON edge the entire trip back to the penthouse. She kept waiting for Aaron’s tension to translate to more questions or pressing her for further information, but he just walked next to her with his arm around her. He respected her emotional retreat, if not a physical one.
They walked through the front door and she had to smother her first instinct, which was to flee to her bedroom and barricade herself inside. Even if they’d danced on some of her buttons during their short walk, on the whole it’d been pleasant. More than pleasant. She liked walking down New York City’s streets with Aaron’s arm wrapped around her waist and the warmth of his body soaking through her sweater. She liked teasing him about his intentions. God, she even liked the reserved way he’d watched her when she spoke about her parents, as if he knew exactly how hard it was for her to confess even those small details and he didn’t want to do anything to spook her.
Damn it, I like him.
And because her emotions hamstrung her retreat, she said, “You promised to ply me with drinks.” When he opened his mouth, no doubt to quote some statistic about pregnant women and alcohol, she cut in, “I’ll take cranberry juice.”
“Cranberry juice,” he repeated, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“Yep. I picked some up yesterday. It’s in the back of the fridge.”
“I see.” He guided her to the bar stool with his hand on the small of her back. She could feel the tiny touch even through her sweater, and it was everything she could do not to arch into his hand like a cat begging for strokes. Aaron pulled out two wineglasses, retrieved the container of cranberry juice, and poured some into both. “You know I can provide whatever you need, minx. You only have to ask.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from snapping back. As a result, she sounded only mildly irritated when she said, “It’s cranberry juice, not a college fund. It sounded good, so I got some on the way home. Simple as that.”
“Home.”
She opened her mouth, reconsidered and shut it.
Aaron nodded as if she’d spoken. “I’ll try to relax. I just have more than enough money, and it’s silly for you to spend your limited funds when I can take care of it.” He held up a hand. “That came out wrong.”
Do not yell at him. He’s trying to be helpful.
High-handed.
Overbearing.
But helpful.
She hissed out a breath. “Aaron, this isn’t going to work if you keep reminding me of our unequal roles financially. I’ve been living here a week. Believe me, I know you make a whole hell of a lot more money than I do. You don’t have to whip out your wallet for every little thing to prove it.” He narrowed his eyes, but she kept talking, determined not to ruin their evening. “And you know you don’t have to skip alcohol on my account. I’m the only one required to be depressingly sober for the next however long. No reason for both of us to suffer.”
“It’s hardly suffering.” He nudged her glass across the counter to her.
If she squinted just right, she might be able to pretend it was wine. Not that Becka wanted to drink. The thought of the scent of wine was enough to have her wrinkling her nose in distaste. Safe to say she wasn’t going to be one of those pregnant ladies who indulged in a glass or two from time to time. That said, it would have been nice to have the option. She took a drink of her cranberry juice instead. “So, about that strip poker.”
Aaron choked. “I was joking.”
“I know. But it sounds fun, and if we can’t drink together and make bad life choices, we might as well go ahead with the bad life choices anyway.”