Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
That. Will. Do.
I push myself up, swipe off the remnants of white stuff from the desk and head out, significantly calmer than five minutes ago. More in control. By the time I make it onto the club floor, the first of three girls interviewing is on the stage, the pole in her hand. I keep my eyes away from the bar and lower to a chair. “Get on with it,” I say to Nolan.
He quickly goes to the foot of the stage, and the girl, an attractive blonde, crouches in her killer platforms, her generous chest more or less pressed into Nolan’s face. It’s a tactic I’m familiar with. It never works. Has with Nolan, though. Once. He won’t be snared by that net again.
I’m a Slave 4 U by Britney Spears kicks in—fuck my life—Nolan returns to the table, and the girl starts to dance. She’s good. Got all the moves, the expressions, the sultry, magnetic appeal most men like. But I can’t appreciate any of it, my shoulders constantly rolling, uncomfortable.
My mind focuses elsewhere.
On her.
5
ROSE
* * *
Where the hell is he? I’ve searched this entire house, all bazillion rooms, walked the gardens, and found no sight nor sound of my husband. In a past life, I would have been out of my mind. Now? Now, there are no enemies to kill. No mysteries to solve. So, again, where the hell is he?
“Did you scare him away?” I whisper, nuzzling down into Maggie’s cheek, getting a hit of her magnificent baby scent. I’ll never get enough of it. The gym is the last room I search, because, poor love, why would he be in the gym? He’s been too beat to work out since our daughter was born a month ago. I find it empty and back out, but a noise makes me still, the door ajar. On a frown, I push my way back in and scan the space. “Oh my God,” I breathe when I see a bare foot poking out at the end of a weights bench. I walk over, rocking Maggie when she whimpers, and peek over the bench. I can’t help my smile. He’s flat on his back, arms and legs splayed, mouth hanging open. My deadly killer, who looks fit for nothing. It’s almost a shame to wake him. Almost.
I move around the bench and toe him with my Ugg slipper. “Time to wake up, Daddy.”
Danny murmurs, hums, exhales, flapping a hand at thin air, like he’s searching for the snooze button on an alarm clock. “Two minutes.”
“No, not two minutes.” I need a shower, my hair is in desperate need of a wash, and I need . . . some pruning. I haven’t waxed in places a woman should wax regularly for weeks. “Come on, Danny,” I breathe, crouching, poking him. “I have to shower.” There are a dozen people in this house who would fly to my aid and watch Maggie. But none of them are her father, and it’s been nice having him at my beck and call recently.
I look down at Maggie. She’s wide awake, her blue eyes showing all the signs of being as piercing as her father’s. She has his bone structure too. “Just typical that I went through the agony of birth and you come out looking like your daddy.” Although, I can’t lie, I’m pretty sure Danny was in immeasurable pain at points during Maggie’s birth too. I apologized each time I scratched him, grabbed him, smacked him.
I negotiate Maggie in my arms, making sure she’s bundled up nicely, and place her on Danny’s scarred chest. Cuts. Bullet holes. How will we ever explain them to her as she’s growing up? Where she’s come from.
I tentatively let her go and watch as her weight there slowly brings my husband back to life. His hand instinctively holds her in place as he breathes in, sending her up a little before he exhales and she sinks into his chest. He opens one eye. Looks down at her. My wonder seeing him look at her like this will never fade. She is literally life to him. He kisses the top of her head and lifts her a little higher, enjoying what I was enjoying moments ago. Her smell.
“It’s the robber of sleep,” he murmurs, closing his eyes again. “The crusher of my sex life.”
I laugh, but on the inside, I grimace. The thought of penetration makes me shudder. And my boobs feel like they could explode for ninety percent of the day, so there’s no fun to be had there, either. Poor guy.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask.
He doesn’t open his eyes. “I came to work out, fell, and hit my head.”
I roll my eyes and stand. “Come on, I need to go out.” I turn and head for the door.