Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“It’s important you know that. Know the kind of man I was before you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I came back from the war fucked-up. Without vital parts of me. I wasn’t capable of being the man I am now, with you.” His eyes contained so much emotion, it was hard to maintain eye contact. “Fuck, with any other woman, I don’t think I would be the man I’m able to be with you.”
My body warmed at his words, even though it really shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, it felt like my skin was on fire, sweat beading on my upper lip because that was what happened when I got nervous, angry or overwhelmed.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “Knowing it and seeing it are two different things. You never should’ve fuckin’ seen it.”
He was right. I never should’ve seen it. And it was also right that it was utterly insane to think the super-hot man I was sleeping with hadn’t slept with other women in his thirty-seven years on this earth.
He did not require me to be chaste, virginal and unexperienced, and I was all about quashing double standards when it came to the opposite sex.
“Kaitlyn and I used to have a casual thing. She was one of the few women in town who didn’t try to push for commitment. Haven’t touched her or any other woman since you became mine. Didn’t think to call her because this town is a fucking rumor mill, so I figured she’d hear through the grapevine.”
He was kind of right on that one. Our relationship had been the top story in our town. Literally. Someone did a piece on us in the local paper.
“The Baker & the Builder.”
I kept the article, wanting to frame it but thinking that may be a little weird so it just sat tucked in one of my many notebooks, hidden from Rowan, lest he think I was too attached. Which I was.
“And that creamer.” Rowan rubbed the back of his head. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I tried it once. Developed a taste for the shit. So, I have it… at home. Not here.”
He looked appropriately embarrassed for a macho man admitting he liked something decidedly girly… fancy dairy-free creamer.
But it was too convenient. Men lied. It’s what they did best. I had a lifetime of experience to tell me that.
A small but insistent voice inside me told me that Rowan was different. That Rowan could be trusted. But that voice was easily silenced by fear.
I sighed, looking into those blazing eyes of his. I was finding it really hard to continue to be mad at him, to continue to believe he wanted anyone but me.
“See you working this over in your head,” he murmured quietly. “Tryin’ to find some way to make it make sense to be mad at this. End this.” He cupped my cheek, eyes looking at me and seeing far too much. “But you’re not gonna find shit, cupcake. This is it. You’re it for me.”
My breath caught in my throat at that little admission. The one I’d been dreaming about. The one all women with square-jawed alphas who treasured them and gave them multiple orgasms were waiting for.
I opened my mouth to tell him the same. Except, apparently, my body was sabotaging me. The blazing pain in my side exploded some more, and I fell into his arms.
Chapter
Eighteen
Recipe: Blueberry Caramel Tart
From ‘Dessert Person’
Though it was cliché, it was the beeping and the smell that woke me up.
The hospital smell. Strong chemicals, antiseptic and sickness. Scratchy sheets against my skin. Cotton in my mouth. My brain fuzzy and eyes full of grit.
I knew a lot of people hated hospitals, and though I’d never say this out loud—lest I sound even more eccentric and weird than I was—I actually liked them. They made me feel safe. This was a whole building of people who were trained to deal with injuries and illnesses. If my insurance covered such things, I’d get a full body MRI framed just so I could see that there were no dark masses, and stop worrying about them. I’d even toyed with the idea of studying medicine for the sole purpose of making myself more capable at diagnosing myself, and more importantly, ruling out whatever sickness I’d otherwise find on the internet.
But blood grossed me out.
And I liked sugar.
Those thoughts all swirled through a cloudy and muddled mind, likely because of whatever drugs I was on.
It took a long time to open my eyes, to get my thoughts to catch up with me. The last clear thing I remembered was having an argument with Rowan. Or at least the tail end of the argument.
I’d decided to believe him, forgive him for the Kaitlyn incident. Not that there was anything to forgive. I’d jumped to conclusions and been somewhat dramatic.