Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Yeah, Nora was fucking sexy. This was not new information. Yet I’d spent my day trying not to stare at her ass in those tight skinny jeans—or consequently adjusting my dick when my eyes had found the task impossible.
And the touches. All the fucking touches.
Hooking her arm with mine when we’d walked into Joe’s barbershop, her soft curves molding to my side.
Her thigh pressed against mine as we’d sat on the loveseat in his office, filling him in on everything from my chat with the prosecutor to which repair shop we’d had her car towed to.
Don’t even get me started on the way her shirt had gaped in the front when she’d bent over her menu at the burger place we’d gone to for lunch. Her breasts were still carved into my subconscious from our one and only night together. I did not need a reminder of how perfect they were.
And because she was Nora, the living and breathing embodiment of every dream and fantasy I’d had my entire life, I could have gotten off just from sitting across the table and listening to her talk.
Long story short: I was fucked and not in a good way.
My cock twitched at the memories, and I let out a groan, pressing my head back into the pillow. I’d already wrestled that son of a bitch into submission once in the shower and once not even thirty minutes later when he’d refused to chill the fuck out and tuck into a pair of pants without tenting the front.
And he was already swelling again?
How the fuck was I supposed to make it through dinner at Nora’s house with my cock trying to claw his way out every five fucking minutes?
I should have canceled. We’d swapped cell numbers, so I could even just puss out and send her a text about how I was tired and couldn’t make it.
But she was cooking, and when I’d dropped her off, she’d declared after the day she’d had she didn’t want to do anything but have some wine and catch up with an old friend.
And I was a sucker who would have done any and every damn thing in the world to make her happy.
Fuck. Me.
I stood up, walked over to my suitcase, and dug out a pair of boxer briefs. They weren’t quite the straightjacket I needed to keep myself in check, but they would have to do. My phone started ringing from the worn-out wicker nightstand next to the bed, and I hopped over, pulling my jeans on one leg at a time.
“Hello,” I said, doing the button-and-zip routine.
“You have one fucked-up family,” a deep voice rumbled across the line.
I planted a hand on my hip. “This is not news to me. What do you have for me, Leo?”
Leo James. Former DEA agent turned owner of Guardian Protection Agency turned jack-of-all-trades who, with the help of his team of bodyguards, security specialists, and investigators, dabbled in a little of everything in the personal protection sector. He was no nonsense and cost a fucking mint, but every single person I’d called from New York all the way to Seattle swore by him.
I’d contacted him on my way to the airport after hearing that Jonathan had Nora in lockup. I’d only gotten so far as to tell him what Josh had done to Thea and subsequently that Ramsey had spent twelve years in prison for killing him, strategically leaving out all details that could blow back on Nora, when Leo interrupted me, saying, “Fuck that motherfucker. Email me the details and I’ll get Apollo on it tonight,” and then hung up.
I did not know Apollo or how he was going to “get on it” from their home office seven hundred miles away in Chicago, but I’d sent him the details anyway.
“What I got is a folder full of Caskey fuckery. Where would you like to start? Your grandfather’s foot fetish porn collection seems like a fun jumping-off point. Though your uncle’s affair with his best friend’s wife would be my second choice.”
I curled my lip. “I’m gonna take a hard pass on both. Just give me what you got on Jonathan.”
He chuckled. “Smart man. Unfortunately, what I have on Jonathan is not as exciting. Seems he’s the only one in that muddy bloodline who knows how to lock down a damn Wi-Fi network. However, we did find one thing that might interest you. The night before your girl was arrested, Officer Caskey took down a kid named Sean Watkins on a possession charge. Nothing big, first offense, slap-on-the-wrist misdemeanor. But the interesting part is, according to police reports Caskey confiscated point eight two ounces of marijuana. Want to take a guess how much was found in your girl’s purse?”
“Point eight two ounces,” I mumbled.
“Bingo! Now it’s not the nail in the coffin you were hoping for, but we’re still working on it. In the meantime, put some pressure on him. Let him know you know about Sean Watkins. Get him on edge. He’ll fuck up eventually.”