Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I have some idea how ugly that industry can be.
I went through BUD/S training listening to a couple guys talking about how their mechanic and flight attendant parents were always scrambling through layoffs every time some new crisis or consolidation blew up their careers.
“Good to meet you,” I lie. “How’s dinner coming?”
He throws his head back and laughs—way too cheery and placating for my liking.
“You live up to your reputation, sir. Evie said you were born with three stomachs. Yes, I believe it should all be laid out for us soon. But first, I’d love for you to meet my daughter.” He turns to the hall, toward a small reading room off it, cupping his hands over his mouth as he calls, “Cordelia! He’s here. Don’t be shy.”
The name stops me dead in my tracks.
Cordelia?
Delia?
As in “Delia’s Gone?”
No fucking way.
Soft footsteps padding on the floor behind me come to a sudden stop.
For the first time I can remember, I’m afraid.
Scared out of my damn wits to turn around and look at her.
My knees feel like lead.
Bruce stares at me awkwardly like I’ve lost my mind and I can’t blame him. Forcing my legs to work, I do a slow pivot, my jaw pinched so tight it would horrify my dentist.
The second I see her, I don’t know whether to laugh or scream or just charge the nearest wall headfirst and knock myself out cold.
Thank fuck for Navy discipline.
It’s the only thing that stops me from making all three bad decisions.
Somehow, I walk toward her, grinning defiantly through the shock like I’m not looking at a laughing curse from this twisted joke of a universe.
“Delia. Hot damn, you’re cuter than I expected. I’ve heard a lot.” I extend a hand.
She has one foot in the room, staring like a deer in headlights.
Yeah, baby. The feeling’s mutual.
For a second, I wonder if she’s going to fall over. I widen my stance to lunge and catch her just in case.
Her father clears his throat, though, reminding her to greet her new stepbrother like a civilized human.
Fucking hell.
If only he knew how uncivilized we’ve already been.
If only he had any inkling I’ve kissed her, swallowed her moans, and made her come in her panties so hard they may have melted.
A handshake or a hug should be nothing after what we did on the beach.
When she shakily takes my hand, it’s pure devastation.
Hot and clammy and sick with surprise.
Worst of all, my body doesn’t want to vibe with the nightmare realization in my brain. My blood runs molten as I close my fingers around hers, my first brush with known forbidden fruit.
“It’s really, um...it’s...it’s great to meet you, too!”
Goddamn.
That faint tremor in her voice just has to remind me of how she sounded on the beach, doesn’t it?
My dick mutinies, throbbing as I throw one arm around her back, pulling her in close.
From behind, I know it looks like a friendly hug to our parents.
Up close and personal, it’s too familiar.
Too much like the way I threw her against the wall and shoved my hands between her legs.
Shit.
If I move one more inch, she’ll feel I’m hard enough to drive nails, a sin I can’t take back.
The world might’ve just dealt us a shit hand, but it didn’t kill my need to have her under me.
When I feel the heat of her skin and inhale her, that breezy perfume mingling with her pheromones, my balls are doused in fire.
“You hungry, sis?” I pull back and look at her, my hand behind her back still roaming, dangerously close to her ass.
I should mean dinner, but I’m not asking about food.
“Starving! Yeah, let’s eat.” She sounds better as she beams like the sun, but when I look into those sunny brown eyes, the only thing I see is a nervous, what the fuck?
I let go of her and turn around.
Bruce gives us an approving nod. Ma has her skinny hand tucked in his, smiling like I’ve just handed her the damn moon.
Great.
Another good reason to get dry heaves—as if the devastating loss only Delia knows we’ve just experienced wasn’t enough.
“Aw, Christopher,” she purrs, smiling like she hasn’t for years before clapping her hands together. “Okay! Let’s go get to know each other better over good food and wine. Just wait until you taste Irving’s carrot risotto! Bruce’s chef is just splendid and—oh, I can’t ruin it, you’ll see!”
Christ.
She’s practically levitating, humming to herself.
I, for one, do not feel fucking good.
It feels like crossing an entire museum’s wing before we reach the dining room.
Like everything else here, it’s huge, housing old-school furniture that looks more like an English manor from the last century than anything modern.
A massive fireplace behind the table burns brightly, its gas flames imposing enough for any mafia kingpin.
I wonder if Bruce is flexing what he lacks in muscle with his sense of style.