Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Oh my,” Bonnie’s voice has me turning to face her. “You look absolutely stunning. Wow. You are so beautiful.”
This coming from her, with her luscious hair, tight red dress, and sparkling eyes. She looks like she came right out of a Southern Belle magazine. She is the picture of perfection, innocent yet gorgeous. She is such a beautiful woman; I can see why Western couldn’t stay away from her.
“You can talk,” I say, leaning in for a hug. “You look dazzling, Bonnie.”
She pulls back, giving me a twirl. “Why thank you.”
“This is amazing,” I tell her, stretching my arms out. “You all did an incredible job.”
“It’s for a good cause.” She smiles. “Get yourself a drink, dance, enjoy. I’ll come and have a boogie with you soon.”
I do just that.
I get myself a drink or two, I donate, I listen to the speeches, and then the dancing begins after dinner, which was a delicious spread. Everyone here from the club looks incredible, dressed up in their suits, their women by their sides. A pang of guilt slams into my chest, because maybe I was wrong about them. It’s clear that they’re not all about the crime and are very willing to help out a good cause.
Hope looks adorable in her little pink dress, and she spends the night playing with a few other kids, her infectious laughter filling the hall. It’s nice to see her smile like that, to see her truly being herself. She has been hidden in her shell for quite some time now, but with every passing day, she lets a little more of herself out. It makes me happy, and it gives me hope that she might just fit in here.
“Dance with me.”
The low rumbling voice has shivers running up my spine. Closing my eyes, I take a deep shaky breath because the way this man makes me feel ... there are no words. Turning slowly, I face Fury. His eyes are relaxed, and his expression is semi-lustful as he stares into my eyes. He’s so overwhelming—just being in his presence has every single part of me on high alert, a mixed bag of feelings that I’m not sure how to sort through.
I don’t understand it, yet I can’t make the feeling stop.
“I have to warn you,” I murmur, trying to slow my beating heart, “I have two left feet.”
Taking my hand, he guides me onto the dance floor where other couples are swaying to the soft music flowing from the band on the stage. When he pulls me close, and his hands glide over my hips, I don’t feel afraid. That doesn’t mean everything inside me isn’t screaming, but it’s not for the reasons I would expect. No, my insides are screaming in desperation for more. More of him.
Sliding my hands up, I hook them around his neck as we begin swaying to the music. Being this close means I can not only feel every hard inch of him against me, but I can smell him. He smells of cologne, a musky scent that is going to stick with me. His hair smells clean, like it has been freshly washed, and his beard is perfectly sculpted and styled. Like this, he could be anyone. A man high up in the ranks, a powerful lawyer, a detective, anyone. Yet beneath the fabric of the suit, he’s a criminal.
I know that should bother me, but I can’t seem to find a good enough reason to let it.
“It’s incredible what you’ve all done here tonight,” I tell him, needing to make conversation before I melt into a puddle at his feet.
“We’re not all bad,” he murmurs.
“I’m still on the fence,” I tease lightly.
His fingers curl into my hip, bringing me closer, until our bodies are perfectly molded together. I can feel every rock-hard inch of him, and a breath sucks into my lungs as my eyes lock on his.
“Do I make you nervous, golden eyes?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
I can’t lie, because every single part of me is giving my truth away.
“Why?”
“Because you terrify me.”
“And yet—” he spins us around “—not in a bad way.”
He’s right, he doesn’t terrify me in a bad way. He terrifies me because he makes me feel things I don’t understand. I don’t know how to handle these kinds of emotions, especially when they’re directed at a man that isn’t my husband. Even when I met Ethan, I never felt anything like this. It’s overwhelming, incredible even.
“I’m ... I ...”
“Married,” he finishes for me. “Tell me, sweetheart, one good reason why that should matter to me.”
If I had a good husband, I would immediately tell him so and be out of there without hesitation. I don’t have a good husband, and, therefore, I have nothing I can say that would make the sacred bind between two people worthy. Fury knows it. He knows that I can’t offer him a good reason because there is none.