Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
He shakes my hand, takes my measure. I meet his gaze. He visibly relaxes. “Maxon Reed.”
“Nice to meet you. Great place.”
“Thanks.”
A redhead with a little ponytail and a big, pregnant belly waddles onto the lanai, shielding her eyes from the headlights. “Maxon?”
“Everything is okay, sunshine.” He turns to kiss her forehead. “Go back to bed. Bethany is home.”
“Oh, hi.” Then she frowns and looks my way. “You brought her home?”
“Yes.”
Bethany cuts in, “Keeley, this is Clint.”
I give her a friendly wave, less because she’s several feet away and more because I have a suspicion that Maxon doesn’t want me anywhere near his wife when she’s only wearing a slinky bathrobe.
“Great to meet you,” she says. “Thanks for saving Maxon the trip to town. Want to come in for some coffee?”
I’d love to talk to these people, see if I can get them to fill in some of the blanks Bethany is refusing to. I don’t think Maxon will be too forthcoming, but I’m hoping cheerful little Keeley will be. But now isn’t the time. Maxon is scowling, and Bethany looks displeased by her sister-in-law’s offer.
“Thank you, but I’ll take a rain check. I’ll see you tomorrow, Beth. Let me know if you want a ride home then.”
“Thanks again.” She shuts the car door, then tucks her hair behind her ear, looking a lot more like a schoolgirl than a grown woman who’s scammed people out of their fortunes.
Again, I can’t escape the fact she looks nervous. Why is that her nearly perpetual state around me?
Interesting question… One I definitely need to figure out soon.
CHAPTER THREE
Two nights later, Bethany sets her tray on the bar with a clatter and leans on the hard surface with a sigh. “Andy said we’d be busy on New Year’s Eve. He wasn’t kidding.”
“I’d say we’re in hell, but I’d be insulting the underworld,” I quip. “I’ve been mixing drinks so quickly for the last hour and a half, I’m not even sure I’ve taken more than a breath or two.”
“Same, brother,” Ash chimes in beside me.
“Terry really isn’t coming?” That possibility distresses me.
Ash shakes his head. “He went to urgent care this morning. It’s definitely the flu.”
“Shit,” I groan. “The next few hours are going to be like the seventh circle of hell.”
Bethany gives me a grudging smile. “My feet already feel like they’ve traversed rings of fire. I don’t know how I’ll last another four hours. At least the tips are good.”
In part because she’s gotten really proficient at waitressing. But also because she looks absolutely stunning with her pillowy lips painted red and a spaghetti-strapped black dress that ends mid-thigh. It isn’t low-cut or flashy like Montana’s bright red number. But it hugs her perfectly, and I’ve spent half the night staring at her. So have most of the guys in this place, including loud-Hawaiian-shirt dude. He’s back—for the fifth day in a row. His behavior is borderline harassing again, so I’ve been trying my best to watch over Bethany. I can’t deny, though, that I simply like looking at her.
I also can’t deny that I’d like to do more than look. In fact, the raunchy fantasies saturating my brain are both making me angry and making it tough to concentrate. I need to snap out of my NC-17 daydreams and focus.
“You doing okay with Mr. Asshole?” I ask.
She shrugs. “About like every other day. He wants another Bud on draft. The honeymooners a few tables over both want Sex on the Beach shots and a fishbowl of the rum punch to share. Then I need a whiskey neat and a dry vodka martini for the two guys at the front who told me they’re looking to ring in the near year with a meaningless fling and asked if I’d be interested.”
I hope like fuck she said no.
My knee-jerk reaction is a kick in the balls. It’s one thing to want her admittedly gorgeous body, but to be jealous?
Fuck.
I’d love to tell myself that I’m simply concerned she’ll be distracted by a couple of tourists and stop focusing on the rapport we’re building—the one that should soon start netting me the information I need. But I know better.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve known Bethany for a handful of days. We’ve only talked a few times. I certainly haven’t touched her. And I’m not going to. Sure, the horny guy in me would love to peel off her clothes, lower my body over hers, and press her to my bed before I find some relief deep inside her. Even if I don’t want to want her, she’s attractive and I’m a guy. Lust is easy.
But this feels uncomfortably like more than mere desire.
God, I can’t pleasure someone who hurt my family so much. I’m here to give Bethany her just desserts, damn it, not orgasms. But to covet her? No. Absolutely fucking no.