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)
“Not that much.”
“Enough that we probably shouldn’t be a thing.”
Five years is nothing, and if Bethany were the target of my lust rather than my retribution, I wouldn’t give a shit how much older she was. She’s crazy if she thinks that matters to me one bit. But if that gives her some false sense of security, fine by me.
I give her a noncommittal shrug. “How about that ride home? There’s no reason to wake Maxon when I’m already up.”
“Actually, they’re awake. All my siblings and their spouses gathered to celebrate the New Year, so…”
“Beth…” I give her my best let’s-be-reasonable tone. “You’d have to wait at least thirty minutes until Maxon arrives, and I’d have to stand here and wait with you. I’m not leaving you alone so Mr. Asshole can find you and harass you some more.” Then I notice she’s sporting fresh finger-shaped bruises on her other arm. Instantly, my temper explodes. “Did he do this to you?”
“It’s all right. I elbowed him in the ribs and told him to keep his hands off me or to get the hell out. He backed off.”
Maybe, but for how long?
Damn it, I wish I hadn’t somehow missed seeing him grabbing her again. What the hell does this douche want? He must know Bethany is not going to sleep with him. “It’s not all right. Did you tell Andy?”
Suddenly, her phone dings, then she looks my way with a sigh. “Would you mind taking me home after all? Keeley is having contractions for the third night this week. Maxon can’t leave her.”
Fate is smiling on me. “Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the car, I crack the windows to let the sultry Hawaiian air caress me. I’ve got thirty minutes to recover from my earlier slip. But how can I continue to be “just a friend” when it’s getting tough to keep my hands to myself? If I tried to kiss her again, would she let me? Maybe. If I did, how much more betrayed would I feel if I proved her wide-eyed behavior is an act and she’s fucked me over, too?
On the other hand, am I getting anywhere by being her pal? So far, no. I’ve been in Hawaii nearly a week and I’m no closer to proving she’s a lying, stealing bitch than I was the night my plane touched down. I can’t stay here indefinitely…
“Thanks,” she says as I pull onto the highway. “As much as you’ve been driving me lately, at least let me give you some gas money.”
When she reaches into her wallet, I stay her. First of all, I’ve made a few million dollars of my own, and if we ever find my father’s money, I’ll have another million or so on top of that. Second, I’m a little old-fashioned, thanks to my dad. Even if we’re not dating, I wouldn’t take money from a woman simply for doing her a favor.
“No need. I got it.”
“I insist. Gas on the island is expensive.”
True. But why would a thief be so adamant about repaying me? I don’t have an answer for that, just like I don’t have an answer for why someone who’s just stolen hundreds of millions of dollars is working like a slave at a dive bar rather than enjoying the spoils of her scam. Is it a ploy designed to throw investigators off her scent? But if the FBI has publicly stated they’ve already arrested everyone they intend to, does she really need to be duping them?
“Nope. But if you want to give me something, talk to me. I like conversation with you.”
It’s probably shitty to assure her she’s not beholden to me, then use her feelings to get closer. But I have to step up my game, work faster. If I don’t, if I can’t prove who Bethany Banks is and what she’s done quickly, I have a terrible feeling life will pull me away from Maui before the job is done. Or…I’ll get weak, kiss her, get her naked, and stop caring about her past. I can’t live with either outcome.
“I don’t know why.” She shrugs. “I’ve said nothing interesting.”
“I get the feeling you run deep. Honestly, I don’t find that often.”
She looks uncomfortable with the thought that I might be digging into her psyche. “I think almost everyone who reaches of age of thirty has had experiences, some that have left scars. I’m not unique in that.”
No, she’s not. But since I need her to open up fast, maybe if I offer something up personal she’ll feel like reciprocating.
“I hear you. I’ve got scars, too. Do you know how awful it is to live with guilt?”
Bethany falls very quiet and drops her stare to her folded hands on her lap. “Yes. Every day.”
Oh, now we’re getting somewhere… But now what should I share to encourage her to open up?