Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I stare at him, unblinking. “You have no idea.”
If he ever hugs Sara again, it’ll be the last thing he does. This place already has me on edge—with all the drunks crowded together out there, it’s the perfect place for some assassin to strike—and the mere thought of this beer-bellied asshole’s paws on Sara has my fingers itching to break his chubby neck.
He stares back at me, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, man, you should see the look on your face. I never knew that whole killer stare was a real thing.”
I force myself to blink, lessening said “killer stare” as he continues, happily oblivious to how true his observation was. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to poach on your territory. We’ve all just known Sara for a while, and she’s like a sister to us. Well, not really, because we’re not related and she is smoking hot, but you know what I mean. And honestly, we didn’t even know she was into men. Not saying we thought she was batting for the other team—just not into dating, being a widow and all. Though I guess she was secretly dating you and…” He shakes his head. “Damn, I can’t believe we didn’t know.”
“Yes, well, now you do.” I should probably be more gracious, given his transparent attempt at male bonding, but I’m still barely restraining myself from killing him over that hug—and all the other times he’s undoubtedly hit on my “smoking hot” wife.
She wasn’t my wife at the time, but she was mine.
Fortunately, Sara reappears before my patience is tested further. She’s wearing a white halter-top dress that reminds me of Marilyn Monroe in the famous skirt-blowing scene. On another woman, it might’ve looked simply flirty, but on Sara, with her dancer’s posture, it’s as elegant as it is sexy.
“Thought it was appropriate,” Phil says as I stare at her, my mouth watering with the urge to nibble on the soft skin exposed by the dress’s open neckline. “You know, since she’s a new bride and all.”
I tear my eyes away from her delicate collarbones. “What?”
“The white dress,” the guitarist says, grinning. “I chose it. Like a continuation of your wedding and all.”
“Ah.” I turn back to watch Sara as she stops to talk to their drummer, Simon.
How bad would it be if I stole her away right now? Just picked her up and carried her out of here, then kept her in my bed until we both couldn’t walk?
I want her singing for me, and only me, in this dress.
And in any other dress, come to think of it.
“Man, you have it bad,” Phil says, and I glance at him, irritated. The idiot is shaking his head and grinning, like he can’t see that I’m about to literally break his neck.
“Phil, hey!” A blond woman rounds the corner, and I realize it’s Sara’s friend from the hospital, Marsha.
Spotting me, she freezes for a second, then hesitantly approaches us.
“Hi, Marsha.” I smile at her as gently as I can. No need to scare the woman further; she already has all sorts of suspicions about me. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Yeah, well…” Her gaze darts to Phil. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” He looks back at me. “Excuse me.”
I return my attention to Sara as Marsha all but drags the guitarist away. My ptichka is now talking to the redheaded guy, Rory, and I don’t like the way that muscle-bound peacock is looking at her.
I start heading over there, but Sara ends the conversation and sticks her head out to the stage area. “They’re ready for us,” she yells over her shoulder, and I quietly exit the backstage area to join the crowd in the bar.
My ptichka’s performance is about to begin, and I don’t want to miss it.
To my amazement, the rowdy crowd quiets down as soon as Sara steps out onto the stage. And when she opens her mouth, I see why. She’s as phenomenal up there as any pop star, her voice strong and pure as she belts out the lyrics she’s composed. I’ve heard her practice this in Japan, but I listen as raptly as everyone in the bar.
It’s impossible not to.
The song is both evocative and upbeat, an unusual mixture of country, R&B, and recent pop hits—all combined with Sara’s unique spin.
She’s more than good.
She’s amazing.
Our eyes meet, and my heart expands in my chest, until it feels like it can’t be contained. It’s surreal, how badly I need her, how I crave her with every cell of my body. The primitive instinct awakens in me again, the urge to throw her over my shoulder and drag her off to my lair.
I want her far from everyone’s eyes, so I can devour her all on my own.
One song, three, five, fifteen—before I know it, it’s been two hours. They keep calling her back, demanding an encore, and she keeps giving in—until finally, it’s all over.