Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Just you, me, and my sister as a witness.” I look at my watch again. Elena’s going to be annoyed, and unlike the priest, she’s not on my payroll. “We need to get moving.”
“Wait,” Emily says, hurrying toward her bedroom area, which is like six steps away. “Just let me get changed really fast.” She starts grabbing her clothes, ripping them from drawers and tossing them onto her bed.
It’s a frenzy. I lean back against the door and watch, unable to hide my amusement, and then my excitement. She lands on a black silky top with a bow at the throat and lace around the shoulders plus a pair of black slacks. It’s not exactly the traditional color for a wedding, but I couldn’t care less, because she starts getting changed right in front of me.
Her gray polo comes off, tossed onto the floor, and she’s muttering to herself as she unhooks her bra—
And pauses, her eyes going wide, when she realizes I’m still standing there.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, holding the cups against her breasts.
“Enjoying the show,” I admit because, holy shit, she looks good. She’s got a firm, toned stomach and soft, gentle collarbones, and her breasts are full, slightly bigger than her palms. My heart’s a wreck and my cock’s hard just looking at her, because I don’t know how I got so lucky to find a gorgeous wife. And to bring it all home, there’s the slight gleam of a silver belly button ring.
Fucking hell.
Kill me now.
A pierced belly button like it’s 2003 again.
I’m such a sucker for that look, and it’s taking all my self-control not to slam her down on the bed and lick every inch of her delicious skin.
“Uh, how about you get the fuck out of my apartment?” she snaps, her cheeks burning bright red.
“You’re the one that started to strip in front of me.”
“There’s not exactly a whole ton of privacy in here, okay? I was in a rush and just sort of went on auto-pilot. Now will you get the hell out so I can finish getting dressed?”
“Ten minutes,” I warn and I open the door. I hesitate, because I really don’t want to leave right now. “Or else I’m coming back in and throwing you over my shoulder.”
“I’d love to see you try,” she says, raising her chin. “Now, out.”
I step into the hallway and text Elena to let her know we’ll be slightly late. My sister replies a minute later with a big thumbs-down emoji, but that’s fine, let her be annoyed.
I’m too busy thinking about my wife’s bare back, her smooth stomach, that little silver button glinting in the light, bright against her dark tone. I check my watch, keeping a close eye on it, timing Emily down to the minute, and when she’s not in the hall when the timer goes off, I practically kick the door open and storm back inside.
Only to find her putting a bag over her shoulder, fully dressed, hair pulled back and make-up done, looking like she’s ready for a formal business partner retreat. “Ready,” she says.
I grunt, disappointed. I wanted a struggle. “I can still throw you over my shoulder. That might be fun.”
“No, thanks, hubster.” She pats my chest on her way out. “No fun for you.”
I fight a smile as I take her to my truck. No fun, at least for now.
Chapter 12
Simon
The drive over is tense. She’s on edge and I don’t blame her. We’re about to get married and we barely know anything about each other, and I decide maybe she’ll relax if I break the ice a little bit.
“What’s your favorite TV show?” I ask, watching the road.
“Uh, sorry, what?” She seems startled. “You’re asking me about TV shows?”
“I figure if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together—”
“Five years,” she reminds me, sounding very stern.
“Right, five years. I figure we should see if we have anything in common. Favorite TV show?”
She looks back at me and I can tell she’s reluctant. Maybe she thinks this would be better if we kept a professional distance, but after seeing that belly button ring and sharing that body-melting kiss, I don’t think I can do anything professional with her anymore.
“It’s hard to pick a favorite. But I’ve been watching Grey’s Anatomy since I was a teenager, so probably that.”
“That show’s older than you are,” I point out. “Seriously, what year were you born?”
“Thank you, I’m aware,” she says, looking annoyed. “You asked my favorite and I answered. What are you into, The Sopranos?”
I wave a hand in the air. “I don’t have time for television.”
She groans. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m kidding. I love The Wire. Basically, cop and crime shows are my thing.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You can relate to all the bad guys, right?”
I shrug and say nothing, because she’s kind of right. TV dramatizes my world and makes it seem more exciting than it is, but every once in a while, they get something right. And sometimes, my world becomes more like TV.