Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I inhale, about to say more, but I’m trapped just watching him. Staying pinned to his hard features. Engraining all the stern creases around his eyes. As though he may vanish soon. It’s terribly illogical.
He’s still here.
And he’ll still be my bodyguard no matter—Thatcher suddenly catches me around the waist, stopping me from bumping into a life-sized mummy.
He pulls me back against his muscular chest, my breath ejecting.
Heartbeat racing.
And while I’m in his protective, warm clutch, while we’re alone, I feel safe to ask him anything. “I have so many questions,” I say softly, thinking aloud. “I want to know all about you, but I can’t ask fast enough—and when I think about you, I wonder what your hands have held. What your eyes have seen.” My pulse has skyrocketed, but I keep speaking. “What your ears have heard and where your feet have landed.”
He’s quiet, and I ache to see him. So gradually, I unfreeze and turn to look up at Thatcher. I skim his stoic features, more entranced. But I also mentally replay what I just said and my eyes grow bigger. “If that sounds disturbing, I’m so sor—”
“No,” he cuts me off, one of the few times he ever has. “You’re an American princess. You being comfortable enough to say what’s on your mind in front of me—and to me—is something I don’t take for granted.”
My lungs flood, knowing he’s felt this way means more than I realize or thought it would.
His hands fall to his radio, and he hawk-eyes the rear exit that says emergency only . We’re very close to the back of the store. Where neon wigs and animal masks are shelved on endless rows of mannequin heads, and I’m multitasking, perusing the nearest rack of gothic costumes, heavy lace and black veils.
Fog continuously rolls over the ground, hiding our feet.
He seems to be aware of every little thing.
Especially me.
Thatcher sweeps me head to toe. “And I want you to know all about me. So shoot.”
I will most surely fire away. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I’m too intrigued, especially after how exceptional he is under the sheets…and on top of the sheets, on the floor and against the shower wall.
“Fifteen,” he answers, unflinchingly. “What about you?”
My brows bunch, fingers paused on a veil. “Don’t you know about me already?”
It’s not public information. But the boy had to sign an NDA, and my bodyguard at the time was around to protect me.
Our bodyguards are privy to stories and secrets that they’re supposed to safeguard. For most of my life, I had Mitchell, who’s now retired. I always believed he shared more stories with the team about me, which is allowed. So I just assumed all of security knew this one.
“I do know how old you were.” He holds my gaze tighter. “But I want to hear it from you.”
My lips rise. The act of sharing personal stories feels intimate. I’ve never really done this with anyone beyond the docuseries producers and family.
“I was fifteen when I lost my virginity,” I say aloud. “Same as you.” I can’t restrain a smile.
His carriage lifts in a headier breath.
“Did you enjoy your first time?” I ask.
“Hell yeah,” he nods a few times. “Did you?”
“I did, immensely, and I really love that you enjoyed your first too.” Feeling that there was happiness in his life makes me happy.
He checks slight movement on his right, orange streamers blowing as the air conditioning kicks on, and then he looks at me. “Your first time didn’t hurt?”
I inspect a pair of black wings in a fallen angel costume. “A little bit in the beginning, but then it felt better.” I turn more to him. “The overall experience was illuminating and exciting, and now sex is practically a favorite hobby.”
He nods. “Sex feels different with you though.”
We both tense at his admission. Treading carefully.
“Good different?” I pry a little deeper.
“Beyond fucking good, honey,” he answers, inhaling strongly like my scent does him in and we’re only a few feet apart.
Heat pricks my nerves, flush ascending my cheeks. He’s on-duty , I remind myself, and I’m respecting his position as my bodyguard from now until forever.
He shifts around me, standing closer to the emergency exit as someone pounds on the door from the outside.
I flinch at the noise.
Thatcher’s indomitable I will annihilate anyone who tries to harm you presence eases me considerably. Anyone who tries to hurt me will have to pass through his iron-will and brawn, and it won’t be an easy feat.
I hear a muffled, masculine voice. “It’s locked.” And then footsteps drift further away.
Thatcher turns to me. “It’s still safe here.”
I relax more, and he watches me examine the black angel wings. I manage to land on another question. “What were you like as a teenager?”
He’s a second from responding, but his phone rings. Security would communicate through comms, so I’m assuming this has to be his family in South Philly.