Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Devan holds my gaze and takes a long drink of his scotch. He jolts a little. For just a moment, he looks less like a personified storm cloud and more like an actual human. “This is Caol Ila.”
That thick feeling in my throat comes back. It feels good and it hurts all at the same time, and somehow that makes everything better. How can a person appreciate the good things if they’ve never felt the sting of loss? I’ll never know. I never got the opportunity to know. “Mmhmm.” My smile trembles a little around the edges. “Dad’s favorite.”
“Yeah.” The faintest smile touches his lips. “Yeah, it was.” For the millionth time, I wonder how this man became my guardian. I understand that he and my father served in the army together and that bonds a person, but is it really how someone chooses who should raise their child should the worst come to pass? And my mother, the pacifist? I can’t imagine her signing off on this choice, especially considering Devan was never around, but obviously she did because here we are.
We finish our drinks in silence, and he sets his glass down with a clink. “Let’s go.”
“Pass.” I start to motion to the bartender, but Devan catches my hand in a firm but impossible to escape grip. Not that I’m trying to escape. But giving in too easily won’t do, either. I eye where he holds me. “Devan, what time is it?”
He doesn’t release me as he checks his watch. “Twelve-fifteen.”
I smile. This time, it feels really. Really, truly real. “That means you’re no longer the executor of my trust fund. Happy birthday to me.” Now’s the time for courage, to put it all out there. For better or worse, I’ll have no regrets. I lean forward and lower my voice. “Do you know what I’d like for my birthday?”
“What?” He asks warily.
“You.”
Chapter 3
Devan releases me instantly. I stare at my wrist. He wasn’t holding me that harshly, but I swear I can feel the imprint of his skin against mine, a perfect replication of his five fingers and palm. He glowers at my empty glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
I fully expected this question, which is why I showed restraint despite my nerves. “Just the one.” Honestly, I could have used more for a boost of courage. “I’m not even buzzed.”
“Did that fucker drug you?” He starts to turn toward the trio of men in the corner, but I wrap my hand around his forearm. He’s just as thick here as he is on the rest of his body. Devan is just a big guy, and a devious part of my mind can’t help wondering if he’s as thick there, too.
The thrill of touching him makes me lightheaded. A small thing, my hand on his forearm, but it feels like the prelude to so much more. Rather, I desperately want it to be a prelude to so much more. “Is it so hard to believe that I can be sober and want you?”
“Yes,” he says shortly.
“Devan.” Now it’s my turn to inject censure into my tone. Who the hell could look at this man and not want him? Sure, he’s not ripped, and he’s got a shitty attitude, but there is more to life than sunshine and muscles. He’s got a presence that dominates the room. Even without all that taken into account, he can’t pretend not to know that I want him. “I may have been blitzed last year, but I remember everything.”
A faint flush colors his cheeks and his jaw goes tight. The tiniest of reactions, but he might as well have held up a glitter sign saying he’s affected by me, too. “I should have stopped you.”
I’m so very glad he didn’t, for all that the memory brings as much embarrassment as it does desire. “But you didn’t.” I say it softly. “Surely I didn’t imagine how closely you watched me the entire time. You can’t pretend that was purely for safety reasons.”
“I should have stopped you,” he repeats.
“I’m glad you didn’t.” It’s the truth. I’ve never been able to quantify what I feel for Devan. It’s messy and confusing and I’ve hated him at times. But there’s no denying the craving I have that goes beyond simple desire.
It’s pure lust.
Last year, that lust bubbled over into action; at least on my part. It takes barely any effort at all to be right back in that memory of us in the backseat of that town car. Of the sound he made when my skirt slid up to reveal my panties. It should have stopped there, but I’ve never been on that great of terms with control. I wanted to see if he’d stop me or…maybe take over for me. So I slid my hand into my panties and brought myself to a messy orgasm while he sat there, his body so still it might as well have been a statue. No, he didn’t touch me that night. But, god, he watched.