Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Thorn huffed a breath of amusement as if he thought Lucas was joking, but the smile fell from his pretty lips and desire flashed in those dark eyes before he started talking, this time with more conviction.
“Oliver came to me because he’s your friend, and he thought you could use the services of my home.” Thorn’s gaze roamed over his face.
“Which is what exactly?”
“Healing.” Thorn’s voice was husky when he continued, his sexy glare dropping and holding on Lucas’s throat. “My gentlemen heal and mend broken hearts, Lucas. Like yours.”
Lucas let out a sharp laugh, though he wasn’t amused.
“Healing? What, so, you run some kind of brothel for the broken, is that it?”
Thorn stared at him with a deadpan expression.
“You think cooing and rubbing someone’s back can make them forget betrayal and living through years of a fucked-up relationship?”
He cut his hand through the air and stalked a few paces away, pacing like a man both pissed and curious.
“Don’t feed me any bullshit ‘you’re a heart savior,’ Thorn. That’s no one’s ‘job’ and it can’t be what you do all day that allows you to afford a five-thousand-dollar suit and drive an eighty-thousand-dollar car.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Lucas.”
He spun back toward Thorn, his body coiled tight, but still, that treacherous part of his heart—the part that had been burning for Thorn—ached to hear more of his pitch.
Thorn was completely impassive, staring through him as if he already knew what he’d lost. And worse, like he knew just how to fix it, if only he’d just shut up and listen.
“I built my empire with concrete stats, numbers, contracts, and real negotiations. I don’t do or believe in fairy tales.”
Fuck, listen to me. I sound like a drunk jilted divorcee.
Thorn didn’t recoil from Lucas’s sharp words, standing there, stock-still, like marble carved into a man, his dark eyes calm in a way that only made Lucas want to shake him. He was simply looking at him as if he’d heard this tirade many times before.
Thorn tilted his head, his calmness infuriating. “You wouldn’t be so angry if part of you didn’t already believe me.”
Lucas’s mouth opened to argue, but no words came…because Thorn was right. “Fine…tell me more.”
Belladonna Mansion
Casey’s Condo
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
3:12 a.m
Casey jolted awake with a strangled gasp as an explosive boom of thunder shook the foundation beneath him, the sound so violent he thought the walls might buckle.
He jackknifed upright, heart pounding, throat clamped so tight he struggled to inhale.
A blinding streak of lightning carved across the sky outside his window, and with it came the memory of his parents’ car hydroplaning into a flooded ditch, metal twisting, glass shattering, penetrating his mind as vivid as if it were happening all over again.
Panic clawed at him, testing the progress of his months of counseling.
He’d come so far, but storms this fierce reminded him that some traumas just couldn’t be conquered—they lay dormant until the next strike awakened them.
Being held and protected by his Sir was his only cure.
Casey’s anxious breaths were coming faster as the rain beat against his windows. He frantically scanned his bedroom for Galan.
“Sir,” Casey whispered, as if the storm would get mad if he spoke too loudly.
Where is he?
Fear and despair consumed him, leaving him unable to think straight.
The other side of the bed was empty, and there was no sign of his Sir anywhere.
Why would he leave me like that?
Thunder boomed again, and Casey was out of bed and hurrying barefoot across the floor. He flung his bedroom door open, moving on autopilot toward his front door. He prayed that Thorn was home and in his bed now or that Lincoln was up bingeing some show.
“Casey,” a deep voice said from a dark corner near his piano. “Where are you going?”
Galan stood from where he’d been lounging in a chaise, watching the storm as if it were an Academy Award–winning movie.
He was shirtless but still in his slacks, and the relief Casey felt in that moment had his stomach sinking to his feet as he ran into Galan’s arms without permission and clung to him.
He was trembling with fear and embarrassment as he tried to crawl up Galan’s solid body.
Strong, warm arms clamped around his waist and held him so tight that Casey struggled to inhale, giving him what he needed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see this,” Casey gasped against Galan’s throat. “I was in a fatal accident a few years ago, and now storms give me panic attacks when I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone, boy.” Galan squeezed him. “I’m right here.”
“I know.” Casey sighed. “I know now.”
Galan
Fuck. Why did I fuckin’ leave the bedroom!
Galan lifted Casey into his arms until his long legs were linked at the small of his back.
He was so light and delicate, his skin soft and supple as though he moisturized daily.