Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Finally.
I do as he says, and then at least I’m on comfortable leather instead of inside a moving coffin.
“Here.” Trav reaches over to his passenger seat and passes a blanket and a pillow back to me.
“You actually brought these?”
“Take a nap like a good boy. Or better yet, cover your face with the blanket.”
“You like my face,” I argue and then hate myself for it.
“I do. But this is for your protection. I promise I’ll look lovingly into your eyes as soon as we get to our destination.”
“Where is our destination?”
“I told you already. We’re going on vacation. Palm Desert, here we come, baby.”
It’s better than being dead. It’s better than being dead.
“We’re here, sleepyhead,” Trav says, his deep rumble somehow pulling off a soothing tone. He takes a left, and gravel crunches under the tires.
“I’m not asleep. You made me lie down the entire way.” I sit up and take in my surroundings. It’s pitch-black outside, and I can’t see much, but I can see there aren’t any dwellings in the near vicinity, just palm trees and dry land. “Uh, are we going to be camping in the desert?”
“Wasn’t planning on it, but we can if you want.” As he says this, we come to a clearing, and behind the millions of palm trees and bushes is a massive stone-and-concrete mansion.
It’s lit up from all different angles.
“Are we at a hotel?”
Trav snorts. “Welcome to my playground.”
“You own this place?”
Trav parks under a huge stone archway next to wooden doors. “Let’s say my stock jumped a few points in the last couple of years.”
“Sure. Stock. That’s where you get your money. It’s not at all by doing shady deals with criminals or by breaking the law.”
“I would never.” Trav acts offended. “My future husband is a DEA agent, and what kind of husband would I be if I broke the law and put his career in jeopardy?”
“Well, lucky for you, I most likely won’t have a career after this.”
Trav grins, and I realize my mistake before he even says it. “Aww, did we just get engaged?”
I sigh and exit the car. “Show me to my room.” It’s been a long couple of hours in the car, and now I really am ready for sleep.
“You want to save yourself for our wedding night. I get it. Right this way.”
We enter a large tiled foyer, but I have to blink away disbelief as all the gorgeousness and sophistication of the outside of the building is trashed by the tackiest decor I’ve ever seen.
“Is … is that a chandelier made out of deer antlers and covered in strings of crystals?” Not to mention the zebra-print rug, mismatched furniture and colors, and the awful wall print of … I don’t want to say blood spatter. But it looks like blood spatter.
“Don’t you love it?” Trav looks so proud of this monstrosity that I’m starting to doubt my own taste levels.
“It … sure is a conversation piece.”
Trav permanently looks like he’s in on an inside joke that only he gets. “You have a choice of rooms, but I’d feel more comfortable if you stayed in mine.”
I give him my “unimpressed” look.
“Without me. Geez. It’s the most secure, it works on independent power to the rest of the house, and if there was ever a raid, it works as a panic room.”
Again, I find myself wondering exactly what Trav does outside of interfering with my livelihood. “Paranoid?”
“Prepared. And you’re welcome. I don’t let just anyone sleep in my bed.”
“Sure, you don’t.”
“It’s the truth. You’re the only man I’ve ever had sex with who has stepped foot in this house.”
I narrow my gaze but tell myself not to read into why that is. I’m here because I asked for his help. Not because his jokes about us being together hold any weight. Because they don’t. “That was a long time ago. I don’t think it counts anymore.”
“Really? Is this a new dating rule? You don’t have to claim the ones past so many years? And if that’s the case, how many years is it? Is it by calendar year? That would make me a virgin this year. I’m all innocent and virginal. Want to pop my cherry?”
“Smartass,” I mumble, and then his words register. “Wait, you haven’t had sex with anyone this year? It’s June.”
“I’ve been busy. But, hey, if you’re offering to scratch an itch—”
“I’m not going anywhere near you if you’re itchy down there.”
“Oh, well, lucky for you, that was just an expression. We might be locked up in here for a few weeks. What will we do to pass the time?” He’s relentless, but I can’t say I hate it.
And then I hate myself for somehow finding his ridiculousness charming.
“I have a feeling my time will be spent trying not to kill you.”
“You kill me, they kill you, and that’s a whole lot of killing that I can’t be bothered dealing with.”