You Can Have Manhattan Read online P. Dangelico

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
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Because I had actually started to believe he’d changed. I genuinely nurtured an embryo of hope that Scott had become a better man than the train wreck he insisted he was––that he wasn’t the person I’d met thirteen years ago––and this stunt wiped away any illusions I harbored on that front. He stumbled once again.

Hope does not reality make, and party whores are gonna party.

When he finally reached the altar, he took his place beside me. No question he was good and soused. One: I could smell it. Two: the goofy, one-sided smile he gave me was proof enough. His teeth were blindingly white, the front two slightly longer than the others. Funny how I’d always thought it was attractive on him and now I just wanted to knock them out.

“You’re late,” I told him in a tone that brooked no more nonsense. Had I set myself up for this? Yep. And I took full responsibility. But the heaping portion of self-respect I’d gained over the years dictated I put him in his place. I couldn’t just let him set this kind of precedent, to run roughshod over me. To a guy like Scott, it would be free license to keep doing it, and I wasn’t about to spend the next three years being treated like my time was worthless.

“Am I? Hmm. Sorry.” He chuckled darkly. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. The resentment was still there. Softened by large quantities of alcohol perhaps, but still there.

I turned, facing the makeshift minister, and nodded for him to begin. If Scott was angling for a scene, for me to call it off, he’d be sorely disappointed. Elvis gave his spiel and before long it was Scott’s turn to say his vows, ones he delivered with a laughing smirk and a hooded gaze directed at my lips. Then came my turn.

I was about to speak when something strange came over me. Yes, this marriage was a fraud. Yes, he’d divorce me as soon as he could without jeopardizing Blackstone Holdings. But for some reason I could not bring myself to take those vows lightly, to speak them in jest the way Scott had. So as I stared at Scott and promised him I’d be a good wife to him for as long as he’d have me, in my heart I meant every word––even if I’d never admit it to him.

Watching me closely, Scott fished a small signature robin’s egg blue pouch out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. I held my breath and offered my hand palm up as was my custom. I never wore colored nail polish, never wore rings––never flaunted my hands. The pale silver hatch marks were still there, my history written across my fingers. Lasers had removed most of them, but not all.

Taking my hand, Scott emptied the contents of the pouch in my hand.

A band of blindingly perfect round diamonds, the weight of it heavy. The stones caught light and returned fireworks. So pretty my heart stopped. My eyes lifted to find Scott’s expression as serious as I’d ever seen it, his gaze unblinking. And in that suspended moment, I forgot all about hiding my scars. I slipped the ring on and admired it, shutting out the voice in my head screaming that I was a fraud, that it didn’t belong to me, that it would cost me dearly.

It was loose, too big for my finger, and fearing it would fall off, I closed my hand into a fist.

Elvis handed me the simple gold band I’d purchased in a hurry from the hotel jewelry store. Scott hadn’t given me time to ask what his ring size was before he’d walked away so I’d guessed. Umm, wrongly, as it turned out.

When I failed to get it past his knuckle, he took it from me, and with more than a little effort (and his face screwed up in pain) jammed it on. We both stared at it. His knuckle abraded. The ring choking off the blood supply. If that wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Elvis exclaimed. “You may kiss the bride.”

Scott moved fast, gunning for my mouth, but I was faster. We once had crazy chemistry and I wasn’t in a hurry to find out if I’d imaged it or if I’d been right. There was no place in this arrangement for chemistry.

Turning my head in time, the kiss landed on the side of my neck, his lips softly brushing back and forth. Goose bumps rippled over my skin from my hairline to the tips of my toes. Resisting the urge to sigh in pleasure, I dug my fingers into his biceps, crumpled the fine wool of his suit in my fists. Whether to push him away or pull him closer, I wasn’t sure anymore. It was as good as I remembered, and he hadn’t even touched my lips. An unexpected bout of fear rose up. What if I had to live with this thing between us, this distraction, for the next three years?


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