Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Or me,” I add.
Farrow shakes his head. “No, see, you and Jane have a tendency to accept harassment because you think it’s normal. I just want to make sure that doesn’t happen here.”
The fact that he’s protective over Janie just amasses my love for this guy. Into the tallest mountain on Earth. My chest swells, and I have trouble taking my eyes off Farrow.
His lips slowly rise like I’m on my knees. Blowing him.
I seize the envelope out of his hand. “Now I’m ahead of you.”
He curses lightly, “Shit.” He glances at the movie. “Rewind a few minutes.” He missed a part during our conversation.
I find the remote in between the sofa cushions.
He asks me, “You’re still okay with the wedding destination?”
I press rewind. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Farrow meets my gaze. “We didn’t have time to visit the venue, and it goes against your favorite merit badge.” He widens his eyes playfully. “Preparedness.” Despite his teasing words, he actually looks more concerned in the next quiet second.
I think he’s just checking in with me since this wedding prep is on hyper-speed.
I pause the movie. “I’m okay with just seeing videos and pictures. It feels like enough.” I start to smile thinking about July 9th. “I want to marry you in Capri.”
He grins. “Technically, it’ll be Anacapri.”
“Still the Island of Capri,” I combat.
“Fair enough.” His lip inches up even higher, and I wish you could see the way he’s staring at me. With utter, eviscerating love that deserves fanfare and centerfolds and documentaries just focusing on that one look.
And God, the way he makes me feel.
My eyes burn with emotion, and I swallow a knot in my throat. “Jack still needs to know if we want the wedding to be filmed for the docuseries.”
Farrow sucks in a breath, looking indecisive. “You want to?”
“I don’t mind sharing our wedding with the world, man. I’m comfortable being in the spotlight. And there’s a high likelihood at least one paparazzi squirms in and captures something anyway, and with the docuseries, we’ll be able to share our footage. Which is better than grainy video clips from telephoto lenses.”
As soon as tourists snap pics of my family and us in Italy, paparazzi will flock to the area like locusts. The benefit of Capri is the amount of time it’ll take media to reach the island. Right now, most fans think we’re returning to Greece, and Kinney has been “liking” those speculation tweets, so she’s helping throw off the scent.
He’s still hesitant. It’s not like he grew up imagining being married to me. The son of an infamous sex addict and alcoholic, a celebrity who’s wrenched him into a life of zero privacy.
“If you’d rather this be private for us, I totally get that too, Farrow. There’s no pressure.”
He nods. “Let me think about it.” He steals the remote and presses play. And then leans back beside me. I have a hard time averting my eyes off him, okay?
But I succeed.
“You can keep staring, wolf scout. I already know you think I’m hot.”
I blink. I’m taking my win, however short. And I let out a rough breath. “I don’t think it. Never even said it, and I have no clue where you’re getting that idea from.”
Farrow rests a hand on my knee. His large palm skates down my thigh towards my crotch. Jesus Christ. My body responds, stirring. Heating.
Wanting.
Aching.
Pleading.
I breathe through my nose. Doing my best not to give him fuck me eyes. I’m not looking at him, or speaking. But I do shift back, somewhat.
I’m about to finally reply with something sarcastic, but I turn and my gaze is on his lips.
His grin only explodes.
“Fuck off,” I say playfully, pushing his hand away.
Farrow laughs, and when he passes me another envelope, he winces. “Shit.” He shakes out his hand.
“What happened?”
“Paper cut.”
“You need a Band-Aid?” I stand up to find him one, but Farrow tugs me down by my waistband.
My ass hits the sofa cushion.
“Slow down, wolf scout. Don’t open your survival kit for me.” He hates being coddled as much as I do.
“I didn’t even crack it open.”
“Good.” He sucks his stinging finger, his lip curving.
I zone in on his movements, and my muscles contract. “Maybe I should look at your finger. You might need amputation STAT.”
“And this is why I’m the doctor.” He drops his hand, and I take it in mine and inspect the paper cut on his pointer finger. Our knees knock together, turned towards one another.
“Not too deep.”
He tilts his head. “Your medical assessment sounds exactly like something a Harvard Dropout would say.”
I give him a middle finger.
He takes my palm in his. Now we’re both holding each other’s hands, and my pulse thumps in my ears.
Like a crack of lightning, Farrow closes the distance, and our lips crash together. Our bodies thrust closer, and I grab a fistful of his black shirt. Kissing stronger. Possessive and needing more of him.