Mr. Important (Honeybridge #2) Read Online Lucy Lennox

Categories Genre: Billionaire, Gay, GLBT, M-M Romance Tags Authors: Series: Honeybridge Series by Lucy Lennox
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Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
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Thatcher snorted, but his eyes were still soft and warm on mine, that finger still stroking my face like he couldn’t believe I was real. “Like the beavers in Lake Wellbridge?”

He startled a laugh out of me, and miraculously, I managed not to cough my head off at the same time. I wondered dazedly if Thatcher Pennington might be the cure for influenza since he made me feel better than whatever they were pumping through my IV. “Kind of,” I agreed.

“I wish you’d come to me,” he said softly, sobering me quickly. “I wish you hadn’t done any of this alone⁠—”

Just that fast, I remembered why I hadn’t. “Oh, god. Thatcher, I’m so sorry about Brantleigh. He was being awful, but I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I don’t blame you for being angry at me⁠—”

“Angry? At you? God, no.” He tapped my hip so I’d push over, then sat down beside me. “The way you defended me, the things you said… You were amazing, and the incident led me to finally work things out with Brant, sort of.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you all about that later, too. I, ah… figured you felt like you couldn’t tell me your suspicions regarding Layla because I shut you down when you first tried to tell me.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, picking at a loose thread of the blanket with my free hand. “That, too.”

He tilted my chin up so I could see the changeable storm in his eyes. “I fucked up. I was trying to keep our professional relationship separate from our personal one, and⁠—”

“I know. I understand,” I assured him. Thatcher was an intensely private man. Naturally, he didn’t want to do anything that might invite speculation about just how close we might be. And I couldn’t say it didn’t hurt—it did—but if that was a boundary Thatcher felt he had to draw so that we could have a personal relationship… I would try to respect it. After all, there were a lot of compensations. “You flew to rescue me, Thatcher.” I shook my head, still not quite able to believe that he was here in front of me. “You’re forgiven.”

“I do fly sometimes, you know. When I have to. When it’s important.” He leaned closer—so close his lips nearly brushed mine. “Do you remember me telling you why I flew here?”

My breath caught, and I knew my eyes were huge because I was staring at him so hard I couldn’t make myself blink. “I… I think so?” My heart rate shot up so quickly that the monitors beeped a warning.

Thatcher grinned and moved back a couple of inches, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Because I love you.”

“Oh.” The flu must’ve stolen my dignity along with all my strength because I felt hot tears gather at the corner of my eyes before Thatcher reached out to thumb them away. “Well, that’s…” Another tear followed the first. Thatcher brushed it back to the edge of my hairline. “Are you sure?” I demanded. “Because I know you said it before, but if it was an adrenaline thing because you thought I was dying or whatever, I would understand.” That was a lie. Never in my life had I wanted to believe anything so badly.

“Positive. I love you, Reagan Wellbridge. You, with your silver tongue and your gorgeous eyes, with your crazy antics and your big heart, and that sexy tattoo that I’ve become really, shockingly possessive of.” He grinned. “Now, stop crying, love. We need all this liquid to stay inside. The doc said you’re dehydrated on top of the flu. You can’t afford tears right now.”

I snorted and started coughing again.

Thatcher helped me sit up so I could catch my breath and wrapped a supportive arm around my shoulders… but his proximity only made the beeping of the cardiac monitor speed up again. The machine made a shrill warning noise. From the way my heart was hammering in my chest and heat was licking every inch of exposed skin on my body, I thought maybe it was an emergency.

“This is mortifying,” I muttered, turning my face into Thatcher’s shirt. “You told me you love me, and I’m ruining our moment.”

He rested his chin against my temple. “You’re safe in my arms, Reagan. Nothing could ruin this. In fact,” he teased, “I’m kind of wondering if I can keep you hooked up to one of these machines permanently. I like knowing what you’re thinking about.” His voice was a low rumble that reached deep into my gut, lighting me up in places that had no business being lit, given that I felt about as sexy as a newborn kitten.

The monitor began bleating like a Vegas slot machine hitting the jackpot.

Thatcher burst into laughter. He caught my jaw in one strong hand and kissed my forehead. “God, I love you,” he murmured. “It’s my privilege to come here and be the one to take care of you, Reagan Wellbridge. Do you understand? I never want you to have to handle anything alone again. I’m a bad bet, but I’m selfish enough to let you make it.” He trailed his lips down my forehead to my cheek, then my ear, still wet from my tears.


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