Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I try to fill in the open blank she left. “You haven’t met the right man yet?”
“No,” she whispers. “I haven’t, but that’s not what I was going to say.”
She could have left it at that, but there’s more to this story, and judging by the bait she just tossed me, she wants me to take another shot, so I do. “You haven’t thought about marriage? You’re too young?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” she offers, her gaze darting past me again before settling on my face. “Abby and I are very close in age. She’s getting married, and there’s a baby coming.”
I see the moment that she realizes she spilled a secret that wasn’t hers to tell.
“Declan told me,” I say to wipe the guilt from her expression. “He told me tonight.”
“Good.” Her delicate hand jumps to my forearm. “I’m glad. I know you’re close.”
I stare at the spot where her fingers are resting on the fabric of my jacket. I shouldn’t feel anything, yet I swear to fuck, my skin is burning with need just from the weight of her hand.
I take a chance and rest a hand over hers. She doesn’t flinch. In fact, her grip on me tightens. I’m paid an exorbitant amount of money to read between the lines, and right now, my instinct is telling me that Carrie is as attracted to me as I am to her.
“Tell me what you were going to say.” It takes all of my self-control to keep my tone even. “You haven’t even… what haven’t you done?”
“I’m tossing the bouquet!” Abby yells from somewhere behind me. “Come on, Carrie. I want you to catch it.”
Carrie nods, but she doesn’t respond to her sister. Her words are directed at me. “Do you think it’s true, Rook? Is the person who catches the bouquet the next one to get married?”
I ignore the question because what the fuck do I know about bouquets, or marriage, for that matter. I stuck it out in a strained relationship for years to give my daughter the family I thought she needed. It turns out I’m giving her a better, happier version of myself now.
I lean down to whisper in Carrie’s ear, “Whatever you haven’t done yet, I want to do that with you.”
As she steps back, her emerald green eyes widen, her jaw goes slack, and her breath tumbles out of her in a series of gasps. “Sex. I haven’t… I haven’t done that. Yet. You want to do that with me?”
For the first time in my life, I’m speechless.
She rushes past me without another word.
Unless I’m hearing things, she just confessed to being a virgin, and somewhere in there, I swear she asked if I want to fuck her.
Hell, yes, please.
CHAPTER TEN
Carrie
Naturally, my sister’s throwaway bouquet bounced off the top of my head and landed in Telford’s unsuspecting arms.
He wasn’t even standing in the bouquet catching zone, yet there he was, grinning like a fool in love with a beautiful bunch of flowers in his hand as I stared at him.
It was all for the best since he’s planning on proposing to Cam at some point in the near future, and I’m forging a plan to dig a hole in the ground big enough that I can tunnel out of this bathroom without anyone noticing me.
All I need is something to dig with.
I snap open the clutch purse that I brought to the wedding.
It’s holding all of the essentials, which in my world are a vial of perfume (one of my original scents, of course), a hair tie, mascara, gloss for my lips with the faintest hint of pink, and my driver’s license.
I got that when I was eighteen because Abby’s dad insisted we both learn to drive.
It’s come in handy for ID purposes, but I haven’t been behind the wheel of a car in years.
I wish I had a getaway car now and a few feet of rope so I could climb out of the window behind me and repel down the exterior of Howerton House.
Once I walk out of this washroom, I have to face Rook Thorsen. I just told the man that I’m a card-carrying member of the virgin club.
I’m twenty-nine years old.
I’m probably a senior member of the club. I might be the President of it and not even know it.
I glance at myself in the large mirror above a row of sinks. My makeup is still all where it should be. That’s only because I didn’t burst into tears when I scrambled in here after the bouquet bounced off my head. I can only attribute that to being in shock.
“Carrie?” I hear Abby’s voice just as the door to the washroom slides open a few inches. “Are you okay?”
I don’t have an answer to that question, so I make a noise that I’d classify as a cross between a whimper and a sigh.