Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 145729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“You’re more than welcome, although I might have done it for selfish reasons.”
She smiled despite the lump in her throat. He was pretty torn up. She felt torn up. Their homes. She wasn’t positive she could ever live in her house again, not after having Nikita and Filat there – and the dead man. “We don’t have any homes left.”
“Baby,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She was kneeling on the floor, washing a particularly deep gash in his side, prepared to close it with butterfly bandages and cover it in antibiotic cream. She looked up at him. At his face. That stubborn jaw. Those eyes she loved.
“We’ve got us. You. Me. We’re fine.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. They’d sort it out.
20
Sonia had no idea of the extent of the operation against them. Joshua was fine with that. They’d handled it. Fyodor and Mitya had helped Sasha in defeating Nikita’s men. They’d all gotten busy immediately, working through the night to erase all evidence. He’d called for help. Help came. They burned the bodies and buried the ashes deep at each location where a battle had taken place.
Sasha had gone back to Miami. Joshua kept Sonia occupied with cleanup and rebuilding on his house, so she never got a chance to see Sasha before he left. He didn’t want them near each other until Sasha proved he was no threat to her. Or never. Never would do.
The lower verandah took most of the damage on three of the four sides. One wall had minor fire damage to it. Because the inside of his home was livable, he had every excuse to keep her with him. She woke several nights with nightmares and he held her close, careful of any damage to her body. He was gentle with her, learning how to like gentle as well as his rough play with her. He figured that was a good thing, because even if she wasn’t pregnant now, she would be someday and he couldn’t be rough then.
The first thing he’d done, even before work had started to clean up the fire damage, was to prepare a room upstairs, on the far side of the master bedroom, overlooking the swamp, for her studio. He brought her paintings there. All her brushes and paints in all the different mediums she liked to use. He had surprised her with it one morning and was rewarded most of the night. He hadn’t been looking for a reward, but welcomed it all the same. That was his woman, turning the tables on him all the time.
Upstairs in his office, he heard the sound of hammers and found them comforting. Rebuilding. Together. At night, she rolled out her plans and they pored over them together. He heard her laugh and he closed his eyes, honing in on that melodic sound, feeling it move through him. They had a long way to go. He knew that. It wasn’t going to be easy. He was in a dark, ugly world. She would always need protection. But she would be that sunlight for him.
He stayed where he was, letting her get her work done, even though he needed to see her. Molly and Bastien had been over a couple of times for a barbecue, and twice they’d gone to dinner in town together. He liked Bastien, but then, he knew he would. Tonight was going to be special because they had business to take care of before Molly’s man began to believe the rumors flying around about Joshua.
Several hours later, he put the phone down. Arrangements were made. Sasha had agreed to the same terms for the pipeline as his father had, although he made it clear he was having to clean house and set things right on his end. He stared out the window. Sometime in the last few hours, night had crept in. The sound of hammers was long gone and voices had faded away.
He stood up and stretched and then paced through the house looking for her. Usually, she was in the kitchen. She liked to cook. He could smell spices. She was bent over, pulling the pork roast from the oven. The night before she’d soaked it in a citrusy mojo marinade. He’d watched her make it, pretending to help. He loved when she looked serious, like she was now.
He’d contributed by handing her orange juice, lime juice and olive oil. He’d watched as she’d mixed it into a bowl with the garlic cloves and salt she’d crushed together. She’d added more spices, cumin and dried oregano, and then cut up fresh oregano. She’d made a puree out of it, and then, after scoring a diamond-shaped pattern into the roast, she’d rubbed her marinade all over it.
He found it fascinating to watch her. It was her face he loved to look at when she cooked. There was joy there. It was undeniable. Just watching as she’d poured the rest of the marinade over the roast, wrapped it and set it in the refrigerator to chill, had turned him on.