Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Willow slips her hand into the crook of Dominik Carlson’s arm, giving a cutesy air kiss to her brother that pretty much translates into “kiss my ass,” before they start walking away. I spin to follow, getting one foot planted, then I’m brought to a halt.
Grasping me by the upper arm, Dax mutters, “Oh no you don’t. We need to talk.”
He spins me away from Bishop, then marches right out of the bar area into what is now an empty restaurant. Dax keeps heading deeper into the restaurant until the sounds of the party recede.
When he releases me, he glances around wildly, scrubbing his hand through his hair. He looks far more upset with me than he did with Willow, and I don’t understand why. Surely he knows his sister is the ring leader here.
Finally, his eyes travel down my body, up again, then back down before snapping to me. He motions at my dress with his hand. “Just what the hell is that, Regan?”
I glance at my dress, get met with a whole lot of cleavage because of the cut, and then raise my head. My voice is almost nonexistent when I weakly offer, “A dress.”
“Really?” he replies with utter sarcasm. “Because it looks like a few scraps of material thrown on your body. Did you really think that was appropriate to wear?”
And then it hits me.
He’s judging me. Immediately, I’m over the concerned brother act. I certainly hadn’t put up with that from Lance when he was alive, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to put up with it from Dax.
I step into him, go on my tiptoes, and poke him in the chest with my index finger. “What I choose to wear—or not to wear as seems to be the case—is none of your fucking business, Dax Monahan.”
“It most certainly is my business,” he yells.
Actually bends his head down and yells right in my face. And then his hand is on my arm again. “I’m taking you home.”
I jerk my arm out of his grip. “You most certainly are not.”
“You are begging for the palm of my hand, Regan.”
“What in the hell is going on here?” Willow’s voice cuts over our spat, and Dax and I jump apart from each other. She’s standing there with her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at her brother.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. When I glance at Dax, he’s scowling at his sister.
Willow’s eyes are soft when they land on me. “Are you okay?”
The air comes rushing out of my lungs as I rush to assure her. “Yes. I’m fine. We were just—”
Willow spins on her brother, eyes narrowing and as cold as ice. “Why were you yelling at her? Manhandling her? And threatening to spank her? Have you fucking lost your mind, Dax?”
I almost feel sorry for the man, because Willow seems like she’s about ready to throw down. My mind races, figuring out how I can diffuse this situation, but Dax beats me to the punch, although so not in the way I would have handled it.
“She’s my wife,” he tells her smugly. “I think I have every right to do those things.”
Of course, Dax isn’t a Neanderthal. He’s an incredibly progressive man, and he wouldn’t think marriage conveys that type of power to anyone. He is, however, a smartass who’s trying to set his sister back on her feet as well as knock me down slightly since he’s getting ready to be attacked.
I brace, knowing he’s doing the same.
“Wife?” Willow wheezes as her hand goes to her chest. She wildly swivels her gaze between Dax and me. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Somebody better explain.”
Dax knows the best way to piss his sister off is to clam up, so he just casually runs his hands down the front of his dress pants and rocks on his feet with a smug smile. He’s not saying another word.
Asshole.
I rush toward Willow, then take her hands in mine. “It’s nothing really. In name only until I can afford health insurance on my own. Lance was pretty debt ridden when he died, so Dax is helping me out financially.”
I hate throwing Lance under the bus like that, but I don’t want to put too much emphasis on the health insurance aspect of it. I’m just not ready to get into that with her, although she deserves an explanation.
Willow’s expression morphs into a mixture of empathy and slight confusion. I take advantage and press on, turning her slightly away from Dax and lowering my voice. “Listen… why don’t you go back in and have some drinks with Dominik Carlson? He’s totally into you. I’m going to grab an Uber home. We’ll sit down and talk about all this tomorrow. I promise.”
“I don’t want to go back in without you,” she replies, but I know that’s not true. She knows it, too.