Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Do you think Mikael stole your car?”
“I have no fucking clue, Ava.” It seems more unlikely by the day, the more I think about it. He’s a smart man. “I’m dealing with it, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” I switch feet.
“How are you dealing with it?”
I turn steely eyes up to her, and she reads the look well, withdrawing. I’m not ruining our last night with talk of London. “End of.” I return to her toes, arranging the tissue between them better so it doesn’t brush any of her wet nails. I really have a knack for this, although the brush could be smaller and the handle a little larger for men with large hands and big fingers like me.
Her little toes—the smallest—require just one light stroke with the brush, and I’m finished. “You’re done,” I say, replacing the lid and inspecting my work. “I’m even amazing at this.”
Ava pulls her feet close and has her own inspection. “Not bad,” she muses quietly.
“Not bad?” I question, insulted. “I’ve done a better job than you’d ever do, lady.” I smirk as I get up, seeing a sea of disgust rise. “You’re so lucky to have me.”
“Aren’t you lucky?”
“I’m luckier.” Her indignance vanishes, her appreciation back. “Come on, lady. Let’s go exploring.
34
The marina is alive when we pull up, every luxury car known to man parked in front of the port where an insane number of yachts and super yachts are docked.
“Fucking hell,” Ava breathes, her wide eyes trying to take it all in.
“Ava, please, watch your fucking mouth.” I cast her a disapproving glare, not that she notices. She’s too busy gawking at the boats. I cut the engine and climb out, reminding myself of the marina as I round the car. It’s been too long. The buzz, the smell, the clammy nighttime air. “Out you get.”
“Please don’t tell me you own one of those,” she murmurs as she lets me help her out, eyes still on the boats.
“No,” I muse, putting on my shades. “I sold it many years ago.” And I almost wish I hadn’t now. Ava and me sailing around the world? Fuck, being in the middle of the ocean really could keep our bubble intact.
She looks at me, alarmed. “So you did have one?”
“Yes, but I didn’t have a fucking clue how to sail the stupid thing.” I should have hired a captain—got them to teach me how to sail. I walk Ava along the front of the port, past the endless cars.
“Why did you buy it in the first place then?” she asks, curiosity rampant.
I don’t want to talk about Carmichael. “Over there is Morocco,” I say, pointing toward the horizon.
“Lovely,” she drones, rolling her eyes.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.” I tuck her into me and bite her ear in warning. “What would you like to do?”
“Let’s mooch about,” she says, looking around us.
I smile, unsure. “Mooch?”
“Yes, mooch. Like browse, peruse, mooch about.”
“Okay. I feel another Camden coming on.”
“Yes,” she sings, thrilled. “Exactly like Camden.” A frown. “But no funny sex shops.”
My laughter bursts out of me. Need I remind her that she was the only one between the two of us that actually bought something from the funny sex shop? “Oh, there are plenty of funny sex shops on the back streets,” I tell her. “Want to see?”
“No, I don’t.” She falls into thought, and I’m not sure I’m keen if her semi scowl is a measure. “You didn’t find that attractive, did you?” she asks, her voice quiet. Is she talking about the dancer that was there? The leather-clad, busty, brash one? The one who struck an alarming resemblance and aura to Sarah? Does she not know me at all?
“I’ve told you before,” I say, taking her face, making sure she’s looking at me. “There’s only one thing that turns me on.” I get closer to her, breathe across her face as she looks at me with hopeful eyes. Insecurity. I don’t like it. But I’ve read that somewhere in my book too. Or was it on the internet? I can’t remember, but it struck me. Lots of reassurance. Lots of validation. I’m here for it. “And I love her in lace.”
I push my lips to her forehead, breathing her into me, hearing her whisper a quiet, “Good.” I hate that she asked me that.
“Come on, Mrs. Ward. Let’s mooch.” Taking her hand, I walk us past a few restaurants and up through one of the side streets to the back of the marina. It’s busy, people dipping in and out of stores, others wandering lazily armed with ice creams.
We pass an ice cream parlor, and I notice Ava craning her neck to see the various colorful tubs on display. “Want one?”
“Maybe after dinner,” she says, moving closer into my side, lifting my arm and draping it around her. I dip and push my lips into her hair, holding them there as we wander on. We pass a few souvenir stores, all full of cheap tat, and some stalls selling handmade coasters, wine stoppers, and beaded bracelets. I frown as Ava directs us to one, and she browses across a pillow loaded with rings.