Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Not hard-asses. Just really courageous. Their job requires them to be levelheaded and unselfish at all times. To focus on the greater good. No time for breaking down or giving in to messy emotions. It’s a waste of time. You probably agree with that, don’t…?”
Her question trails off when she glances back at me.
Abruptly, she stops wading, color filtering into her cheeks.
I raise an eyebrow, ready to prompt her into finishing the question. Then I realize why she’s distracted. I could have sworn I took my shirt off last night when we were burning the world down, but apparently not. Her shell-shocked expression says it’s definitely the first time she’s seeing me bare from the waist up. Those eyelids of hers are filling with more and more sand by the minute. Damn, she likes what she sees. Against my better judgment, I make a mental note of that, too. Taylor doesn’t mind thick. Doesn’t mind the chest hair or the tattoos.
Or the various knife scars.
Nah, she likes it all a lot. How in the sweet hell am I going to keep my hands off this woman? “You were saying, Taylor?”
“Was I saying something?”
Her husky tone of voice puts more than a little life in my cock. “You were asking me if I agree with your parents. That crying is a waste of time.”
“I would rather you didn’t answer. You’ll ruin…” She waves her hand in the general direction of my torso. “This. That.”
Damn, she came right out and said she likes my body. I’m as surprised as I am turned on. The fact that I’m thrown off by her unabashed response is probably why I ask my next stupid question. “Better than an MBA?”
She purses her lips, clearly opposed to giving me the satisfaction. “Better?” Turning and continuing into the water, she flips her hair back. “I don’t know about that. Different, maybe.”
I’m grinding my jaw as I follow, my mouth going dry over the water lapping up and over her knees, skimming up the backs of her thighs. Thighs I would give my life savings to have wrapped around my face, if I thought for a second I could have a fling with Taylor and still maintain a level head while I’m in Cape Cod. Where my concentration is concerned, unfortunately, I’m already on thin ice. “Yeah. I do agree with your parents. But that doesn’t mean everyone has to live…suppressed. Levelheaded all the time. The world would be a pretty cold place without the criers.”
I draw even with her and she looks up at me slowly. Cautiously. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” I clear the weirdness from my throat, liking the hope in her eyes a little too much. Especially when it’s directed at me. “Now people who sing Kelly Clarkson in the shower? We can probably take or leave them.”
A smile blooms across her mouth and she laughs, the light, tinkling sounds traveling around the cave. When she visibly reels her pleasure back in, I almost grab her shoulders and shake it back out of her. Gently, of course.
“What are you thinking about?”
That marks the first time in my life I’ve ever asked anyone that question.
“I was remembering the way Jude used to encourage me to cry when he could tell I needed a good jag. Thank God for my brother.”
All right, he’s more than decent. I might have to be nice to him, too. Fuck my life.
“And then I started wondering why don’t you talk to your brother?”
Discomfort snakes into my middle. “I told you. He’s a prick.”
“But couldn’t you be pricks together?”
She smiles at me to let me know she’s joking and I come very close to smiling back, despite the uncomfortable topic. “He doesn’t exactly agree with my career path. He wants me to come back to Boston and open the private investigation firm, like we planned.” I rake an irritated set of fingers through my hair. “Like nothing ever happened, you know?”
“You mean with Christopher’s kidnapping?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” I half-shout, before softening my voice for her. She remembered his name? “Yes.”
“What does your brother think about what happened?”
“Kevin? He…” Saying any of this out loud is like having my organs removed with pliers. “Right after it happened, he said there is one in every detective’s career that hits harder and this was mine. And it’s worse because a child is involved. He doesn’t think the right solution was obvious, but that’s a hard pill to swallow when I can look back and see it clearly.”
Christ. This is the last thing I wanted to talk about today. Or any day.
But maybe it’s a good thing, because it reminds me I’m not here to play boyfriend to a sexually frustrated second grade teacher from Connecticut who wants kids and a husband and the whole nine yards. “I’m only investigating Oscar’s murder because I owed a friend a favor, but I don’t belong doing this. Official investigations. It’s a one-time deal.”