Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The hell I didn’t. “We have a deal, Bonnie. I’m gonna worry. Period.” She didn’t realize how close she was to tipping over the edge, to taking her life to a place she’d never be able to come back from, and good, bad or foolish, I was determined to save her.
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about your precious little deal, Calvin. If I don’t have a job at the end of the thirty days, I’ll be out of your hair.”
That’s not what I wanted, but that was the deal. Did that mean she wanted to leave? Was she only here so I’d pay off her drug debt? “That’s not…never mind. I’ll be back.”
“Take your time,” she shot back, quick enough to let me know she wouldn’t turn down a break from this conversation either.
I walked around the huge yard to clear my head and get my thoughts straight. Something about Bonnie made me say the wrong thing. Constantly. I went back after about half an hour and she was taking the blue and red casserole dish from the oven. “Smells good.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly, not bothering to turn to look at me.
“I’m sorry, Bonnie. Sometimes I can be a little protective of my family and—”
Then she did turn. “Don’t worry about it. You should absolutely be protective of your family. They are all you have.” She shook her head, a nervous smile on her lush mouth. “I probably didn’t make the best first impression, and I’m sorry about that. I could blame it on my parents or my upbringing, but I won’t. Your family has helped me more than I could ever want, and I am incredibly grateful, really, I am. But I’m not in a position to make your battles mine.”
And I couldn’t ask her to, not when my battle was up against two determined Feds, one with a personal beef against the Ashbys. “I understand.”
She wanted to argue, but instead, Bonnie snapped her lips closed for a long moment. “Okay. Good.” Her arm snaked out to grab the tumbler of whiskey like it was a lifeline, and she brought it to her lips slowly, savoring every drop it seemed. “Good,” she said again, more to herself than to me.
I smiled. “Good?”
She gasped, startled almost as if she’d forgotten I was here. “Pretty good. Never had anything this strong before.”
“Want to mix it water or soda?” Of course, it would be an abomination but I’d allow it for her.
“No thanks. It’s purely medicinal,” she said and tilted the glass back until it was empty. She didn’t look happy or satisfied, just kind of blah. “Ready to eat?”
“Sure. I’ll help set the table.” Maybe I needed what Bonnie had given herself with dinner, a distraction. From troubling thoughts about the Ashby role in blowing up her life. From images of stripping her out of those baggy clothes and making her moan and scream. From memories of Agent Beck. And Brendan Rhymer.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.” That answer seemed to appease Bonnie, and she returned to the salad she was working on. Quietly.
We each moved around the kitchen, careful to avoid touching one another. It was almost as if Bonnie felt the same things I was feeling and, like me, was working hard as fuck to fight it.
“Oh. Excuse me,” she said awkwardly. We nearly collided at the drawer where I kept the cutlery. She just kept those hazel eyes firmly on the floor.
“No worries,” I told her and took a step back with my hands in the air. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She flashed another nervous grin and took a dramatic sidestep away from me, a move that only stretched my smile wider.
I took my time, grabbing forks and knives while she worked busily behind me. It was strange, having someone else occupying my space, but it wasn’t bad. Just…odd.
“Do you have a…spatula?” When I turned at Bonnie’s question, we were practically nose to nose, causing a hitch in her breath.
“Yep. It’s right…here,” I said with a smile and reached just past her to grab the stainless steel spatula. She let out another gasp when my arm accidentally grazed her rib.
“Uh, thanks.” She took the spatula but stayed rooted to the spot, barely an inch away from me. Bonnie sucked in another breath, leaving her mouth open in an alluring, erotic ‘o’.
The air charged around us.
I didn’t know who took the step forward first—didn’t care—but a second later I had Bonnie in my arms, her lips on mine. My tongue sliding against her mouth, teasing the top and then the bottom, before giving the seam my full attention.
She melted into me and that was all I needed to deepen the kiss, to turn it into more than an opportunity. It was a chance, for what I had no fucking clue and Bonnie’s inexperienced kiss made it difficult to think straight.