Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“I want to get married…” She licks her bottom lip. “One day.”
“And kids?” I ask, and she gets a faraway look in her eyes before she focuses on me once more.
“When I was young, all I ever wanted was to be a mom, probably because my mom was so great and made it seem like there was no greater job in the world than having and raising me and my sisters.” Her hand covers mine that I rest on her belly without thinking. The image of her pregnant with our child is so vivid it seems almost real as it fills my mind. “Over the years, I lost that desire, finding that a career is much more attainable than a man I could even envision having a child with. But I do want kids someday, just not anytime soon. I want to travel and experience new things before I have kids. ”
“Then we are on the same page.”
“We are.” She lets out a long breath then tangles her fingers with mine. “I’m not very good at this relationship stuff and you’re right I would rather assume this isn’t serious than be let down. But I do want this to work even if it doesn’t always seem like I do.”
“I know baby, that’s why I’m holding steady even when you’re tying to kick me out or brush me off.”
“I’m not that bad,” she whispers, and I smile softly.
“You are but I’m finding every bruise to my ego is worth it when I get a little more of you.” I cup her jaw and the look in her eyes causes my gut to tighten as the energy between us seems to take on a life of its own. I don’t know who leans in first, but our mouths meet, then one thing leads to another before we lose ourselves in each other. And fuck but I do not mind one fucking bit being lost in her.
Chapter 15
April
WITH THE TV on my back deck playing quietly in the background, my feet resting on Maxim’s lap, a half a cup of coffee in my hand, and our breakfast plates stacked on the opposite side of the table, I go through my emails, and there is a lot of them. I didn’t do as much work as I should have while I was away; then again, I didn’t really have much time.
Okay, I did have time, but instead of working, I spent time with Maxim and his family and just lazing about, which was fabulous and a much-needed break.
After reading over the email I just opened, I smile and look at Maxim, and he takes his eyes off the TV and meets my gaze.
“What’s that smile about?” he asks, rubbing the top of my foot.
“You have a closing date for your house.” I spin my laptop around so he can read over the email the seller’s realtor sent earlier this morning. “Next Friday afternoon, the house is all yours.”
“Guess we need to do some furniture shopping,” he says, then tips his head to the side. “Unless you’d be cool with Mom flying out for a few days and you two saving me the torture of having to deal with that.”
“I would not be opposed to that idea,” I tell him with a grin. I learned when Myla and I went shopping in Vegas that not only does she have great taste, but like me, she is a marathon shopper. We spent the entire day out wandering through one shop after another, not buying much but browsing everything, and it was the best time. “What kind of style are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. You can choose,” he says, distracted by his phone when it beeps.
“You want me to decide?” I ask, and he stops typing to give me a look, a look like the one he gave me when he laid out how things are going to go between us. “Right, never mind,” I mutter as my belly dips. The truth is I’m still settling into the fact that we have a plan for our relationship that goes way past just the next few weeks or months.
“I’ll give Mom a call this afternoon.” He sighs, looking over my shoulder, and I turn to see what’s caught his attention and find Binx climbing up the screen on the back porch in an attempt to get to a moth that’s fluttering around on the opposite side.
Dropping my feet to the ground, I start to get up to grab him but stop when the TV catches my attention. No, not the TV, but the guys lounging on a large leather couch talking to the host of one of the local early morning talk shows. The headline under them in big bold letters reads The Fallen’s lead singer Cohen opens up about the one who got away. Swallowing, I start to reach for the remote, hoping to turn it off, but Maxim sees before I’m able to grab it and snatches it up off the table to turn up the volume.