Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“As I told Rose, they’re both welcome to stay in my home.” My attention swings back to Rhett. “And they do so alone.”
“Of course. And we can trust Fee to make her own choices,” Remy says, turning to Rhett. “As she has in the past.”
“She knocked you back, did she?” I try not to crow, though not very hard. And he knows it. Too bad, asswipe. If you haven’t sealed the deal in the South of France, you’re not doing it on my turf.
“Fiadh doesn’t date,” Remy interjects. “Ever.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I find myself asking, turning back to him.
“Just that. She hasn’t been in a relationship since before Lulu was born.”
“She turns them down.” Rhett’s tone is venomous. “Won’t even go out for a coffee with a bloke.”
“I’m sure you can’t know the workings of her life that closely.” I could crow a little more at this point, but I won’t. Because what happened between us on the sofa was hotter and sweeter than any coffee. And more addictive.
“But we do. She and Rose are as close as sisters. She works for the foundation, and she lives on the grounds of the family compound. Some family you choose. You understand that, I think.”
Yes, I understand perfectly. From cocksure to cold in an instant, I know what happened on the sofa can’t happen again. I’d be crossing boundaries. Risking the ruin of friendships because this is a woman not with baggage but one with guards. And why? Has she been hurt before? How fucking bad?
The noises of the room come back to my ears in a whoosh, and I grasp I’ve missed what Remy said.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said we should circulate,” he repeats as Rhett returns his empty champagne glass to a passing server’s tray.
“In your case,” the asshole says as he turns back, “he means charm some women out of their wallets.”
“For a good cause.” Remy sends his security detail a puzzled look as Rhett adds,
“Their wallets, remember. Not their underwear.”
I return my glass too, but not before grabbing another. “Sounds like someone might be a little jealous. Do you need help getting laid, Everett?”
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
“You’re sure about that?”
So, we circulate. I flatter, kiss a few ladies’ hands, dole out a few compliments, and dance a few dances. I spend thirty minutes in the role of the auctioneer and garner a few laughs, brush off a couple of advances, and flatter those who assert “if only they were a few years younger”. And I’m just about to leave, as usual, before dinner is served, when I find Everett blocking my path on the way out.
“What now?” I almost groan.
“I have a question for you.” He appears to be the picture of ease with his shoulders pressed back against the wall and his hands stuck in his pockets. For once, not even his tone of voice betrays him. “Are you running a prostitution ring?”
I bark out a laugh, stunned and entertained. But I’m also wary. Very wary. “Why would you even ask that?”
“It was a yes or no question,” he says, pushing away from the wall.
“No. The answer is no. What the fuck do you take me for?”
“Honestly? I’ve no idea. I know you’re former military. Marines, wasn’t it?” He pauses, his shoulders suddenly filling the narrow hall when I neither correct him nor bite. “Come the fuck on. I know you were a Navy SEAL, even if I don’t understand why.”
“You’re not the only one confused.” Pulling my cuffs straight, I proceed to examine the fingernails of my right hand as though scrutinising a rough spot. Why does he care? And more to the point, where the fuck is he getting his information from?
“Rich boys like you don’t end up at the pointy end of the stick, not unless there’s something wrong in there.” He taps his forefinger angrily to his temple.
And unbalanced people run prostitution rings? What the fuck?
“Do you want to tell me why you signed up? Why you ended up doing three tours of some fleapit of a country as a flat head?” Everett’s gaze flares. I can’t be the only crazy one here, and I’m not the only one who’s done a little digging. Everett is a former member of Her Majesties Special Air Service. The SAS.
“For the same reason lads of fifteen lied about their age and ended up on the front lines a hundred years ago.”
“For King and country,” I answer with a dismissive snort.
“From a lack of choices.”
“My reasons are my own,” I counter angrily.
“For pimping out your men as high-class escorts?”
“You’ve got some fucking balls,” I growl, stepping into him. “You know nothing about my business dealings, and you know nothing about me.”
“If this is about to blow up in the foundation’s face—”
“I would never do anything to risk Rose’s reputation. Or her work.”