Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“I might be jealous too if you were mine. Especially with all those club whores you’re surrounded by, eager to jump on your cock and become your old lady.”
Preacher’s expression darkens. “Yeah, well, she’s the one who strayed outside our relationship, not me, so her jealousy was really just a show.”
“Bitch,” I growl. “She cheated on you?”
“Yep. Broke my heart, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He nods. “I thought I was in love with her, and maybe I was to a certain degree, but I recovered too quickly from her betrayal to know for sure.”
“Bullshit.”
His dark brows dip into a frown. “Excuse me?”
I push up until I’m sitting and nod. “You heard me. I said bullshit. You want to make it seem like you didn’t love her because you got over her so quickly, but have you? Have there been any serious relationships in the years since her betrayal?”
I fold my arms and arch my brows in a question.
“No, but that’s not longing for her. That’s just being gun-shy to trust another woman.”
My lips curl into a small smile. “All right. If you say so, Preacher. You are totally fine, not at all scarred by her betrayal.”
“Nope.”
“Cool.”
“I know.” He smiles.
“So this isn’t a rebound fuck?”
He barks out a loud laugh that shakes the bed. “No, it’s not. What about you?”
“This isn’t a rebound fuck for me either, Preacher. You’re hot as fuck, and I want you, but I’m not holding out hope of becoming your old lady.”
That’s a bold-face lie. I like Preacher. He’s gorgeous, hot as fuck in the sack. He’s protective as hell and a biker to boot. He’s pretty much the living and breathing version of my perfect man on paper, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“So, boyfriends waiting in the wings?”
“Those knuckleheads? No. I like to party and have a good time, but I told you, I’m not staying in Angel Harbor.”
Which is another reason I need to make sure I don’t let Preacher fuck me into staying in Angel Harbor. I don’t want to mistake the orgasms and this false bubble of intimacy as anything more than what it is. A stolen moment.
“So you really don’t fuck those girls who hang around your MC?”
His brows dip again, and he shakes his head, brows scrunching up as if my question offends him.
“No, Gia. I don’t fuck the club whores.”
“Why not?”
He grins. “You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?”
“I prefer the word curious. So, why not?”
“Because I’m not interested in any of them.”
“And because you’re a man who doesn’t like to shit where he eats,” I guess.
“Pretty much,” he answers, a look of pure surprise on his face. “What makes you say that?”
I shrug. “Just a hunch I have about you, Preach. You don’t like complications.”
“Who does,” he asks absently, but I’m not deterred.
“You’re a man who counseled other soldiers through the worst, most terrifying times in their lives just to receive some karmic balance in the universe. Despite the ambiguity of your religious beliefs, you are a man who likes things straightforward. Uncomplicated.”
“Wow. You got a crystal ball hidden somewhere?”
“Nah, too woo-woo for me, but if you spend enough time around different types of people, you learn to read them.” It’s kind of my superpower. “I’m not perfect at it. I mean, I didn’t realize that Frank had a fucking wife at home. Or that he was a straight-up crook, instead of just a religious crook who kept me supplied in blow and anything else I wanted.”
Preacher lets out another loud laugh. “You really have a problem with religion, don’t you?”
“Not at all. Believe what you want to believe, and I’ll do the same. What I have a problem with is liars and hypocrites. And a lot of church people are hypocrites. I’d rather just stay away from people like that, and it’s hard to tell who’s who inside the churches these days.”
“Wow.”
I frown at his unreadable expression. “What?”
“You are as cynical as you are beautiful.”
“Thanks?”
Preacher laughs and shakes his head, and goosebumps skitter across my skin. He has a great laugh. It’s rich and thick and sounds like he uses it often.
“I mean it. All of it.”
“I’m not cynical,” I assure him, ignoring the warmth that spreads through my body at his compliment. “I’m pragmatic. I don’t believe bullshit, and the more someone tries to convince me of their bullshit, the more curious I am about what they’re really hiding.”
Preacher looks away, and I wonder what he’s hiding behind that good guy, overprotective persona that seems to fit him like a glove. Is he a hypocrite, too? I can’t help but wonder.
"Gia, I'm not perfect," he finally says. "I know that. But I try to live my life in a way that is honorable and just. I’d never intentionally hurt you."
"Is that why you're a biker? Because you're honorable?" I snort-laugh. "Please."