Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
But the second I step into the living room, I’m reminded that I’m definitely in bizarro land.
Because Julien’s out on the balcony lifting weights.
He’s shirtless. His muscular, tattooed body flexes with each rep. There’s a yoga mat on the ground, and he’s doing bicep curls, grunting with exertion as sweat rolls down his lightly tanned and toned body. I stare, mouth hanging open, and I know I should get the hell out of here before he spots me, but I can’t help it.
The guy is absolutely built.
Holy shit, he’s beautiful. Every motion is poetry. His jacked veins send tingles down my spine. He’s even got those muscles that lead into his shorts, that ridiculous abdominal V pointing directly to his substantial bulge.
And as I’m staring, he turns in my direction.
We make brief eye contact. And he fucking smiles at me, the bastard, because he knows what I’m doing.
After a beat, he turns away, and continues his workout, fully aware of my staring.
And because I’m a sick freak, I stay right where I am and enjoy the view. I mean, I’m already caught, so why the heck not? Before he’s done, I scamper away to take a very hot shower, and if I happen to reach between my legs with my eyes squeezed shut and think about him as I touch myself, there’s nothing wrong with it, not at all.
It’s just a wife pleasuring herself to the thought of her obscenely built husband, that’s all.
Chapter 17
Brianne
Kim stretches her lean, tanned legs out and looks at me over the rim of her sunglasses. “I would seriously marry a horny wolf if it meant living in this apartment.”
I laugh and stretch my arms above my head. Chicago spreads out in front of us, and beyond the glittering city is the endless stretch of blue lake, disappearing out onto the horizon.
The view is absolutely breathtaking. There’s a slight breeze and full sun out on the terrace, and music plays from hidden speakers built into the railing. There’s an outdoor kitchen a few feet away and a hot tub at the far corner with an outdoor shower right next to it. I have a drink in my hand and Kim’s on her second glass of prosecco, and overall, I’m feeling really, really good.
Almost to the point that I can forget about Julien.
He left to do whatever it is he does an hour ago, and Kim came over not long later. The guards down at the front desk had to call and make sure it was fine to let her go up, and I heard Julien shouting at one of them and watched as his face turned pale.
The guards kept calling me Mrs. Moreau and were very respectful after that.
Kim’s in a bikini with her hair piled up on top of her head. She’s got a killer body that I’m almost jealous of. I have on my bathing suit too, but I’m keeping it underneath a giant cover-up that hides all the ugly bruises. She hasn’t said anything about it, but I noticed her frowning at me a little while ago and I can probably guess what she was thinking.
“I think that’s exactly what I did,” I admit to her, raising my glass to my lips. “A big, French horny wolf.”
“Mon dieu, what a lucky girl.” Kim fans herself with her hand and bats her eyelashes.
“Are you into my husband all of a sudden?” I arch my eyebrows at her and ignore a little twinge of jealousy. I know she’s only kidding around, but still. “If you’re so into him, you can have him. Just wear that little bikini and he’ll forget all about me.”
“Doubt that,” she says with a smirk. “And no, I wouldn’t say I’m into him, but more into his extremely luxurious apartment.”
“Glad to know where your morals are.”
“Nothing about morality here, my beautiful bestie, only a sense of self-preservation and a lover of fine comforts.”
I snort and raise my glass. “I can drink to that.” I throw back a big sip and she stares at me, her smile slipping slightly, and I curse myself inwardly.
Kim’s always so lighthearted and easygoing, at least when she’s not going crazy on an asshole for me. Sometimes I forget that I can’t joke about everything, especially not what happened with my dad. I mean, I haven’t even told her the full story, but I can tell that she knows enough by now.
“I meant to say something, you know.” She glances out at the water, leaning back into her lounge chair.
“About what?” I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I want fun Kim, not brooding Kim, because fun Kim keeps my mind off my current problems.
Top of that list: my husband.
“We all knew,” she says, not really answering my question. “I mean, Cormac didn’t really try to hide it. He was a dick to you wherever, whenever, and didn’t seem to give a shit who saw. I knew, and I didn’t do anything.”