Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
I’d found a flaw in the business model Bernie was admiring—women might love this schtick, but husbands and significant others had obviously given them problems in the past.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re paying for your sick old granny’s medicine. My girlfriend up there?”
They nodded and beat a hasty retreat as I headed up the stairs. Four down, two to go.
When I reached the landing, August was standing in the guest room doorway, sounding shellshocked. “I didn’t expect the throw pillows. Or the pictures.”
“Accessories can make a room,” a man inside said earnestly. “Anybody can toss a mattress down, but add some pillows and a few classy pieces of art? Now it looks like somebody lives here. You should go to the website and check out the living room sets. Um, not that there’s anything wrong with yours.”
“He forgets we live on tips,” another voice said. “And he thinks he’s a designer. He didn’t mean to insult your couch.”
I walked over and slid my hand around August’s waist, tugging her up against my side. She startled for a moment before relaxing and leaning into me.
“It’s okay. She insults it all the time. We’ll check out the site.”
“We will?” she asked quietly and I tightened my grip on her.
Marking your territory, caveman?
Yes. Yes, I was.
“This looks good,” I said through gritted teeth. The bed was already put together, down to the sheets, a summer-thin sage-green comforter and a shit ton of throw pillows. The dresser and side table were rich dark wood with shiny brass handles. Three framed black-and-white prints now hung on the walls—the Golden Gate bridge, what looked to be a rural farmhouse and a mountain range.
Chick had gone all out—not exactly the actions of someone planning a short, simple visit. Then again, August had mentioned he was old-money rich. I had a few clients like that, and they didn’t think the same way normal people did. Some of them would furnish an entire house for a single weekend.
Some of them could conceivably buy a house from a friend without telling them just to soothe their pride and get them to speed up their timeline.
Get a grip. He’s her friend, not your enemy.
“Are you about finished here?” I asked impatiently.
“Oh, uh. Sure.”
“Did Bernadette leave?”
The one who asked got my silent stare in response, while August chuckled.
“This is Bernadette’s brother,” she warned him, and it was gratifying to see him size me up and go a little pale under his fake tan. “But I’m sure she gave you her number. You can always text her.”
“Great. Okay.” A young man with more muscles than brains stared down at his tablet and nodded. “I guess that’s it then. We need your initials and then we’ll split.”
While she walked them out, I stayed upstairs, taking off my cap, work shirt and undershirt and dropping them on the office floor. I heard them thank her for the tip and then the door closed behind them, and I couldn’t help the rush of satisfaction I felt when I heard the lock turn.
“Wade?”
“Up here.”
When she reached the top of the stairs, I was sitting in her desk chair and methodically unlacing my boots.
“Planning to use the upstairs shower while you can?” She walked across the office and leaned against the bedroom doorjamb with her arms crossed. “The guys hung new towels in there that match the comforter, but they really should be washed first.”
“Nope.” Without taking my eyes off her, I scraped off my socks and got to my feet. Her pupils dilated as I reached for my belt and she bit her lower lip, clearly interested in what she was seeing.
“What are you doing, Wade?”
“You can’t tell?”
She shrugged. “It’s been a wild day, so it could be anything. For example, are you planning to move any furniture around after you take those pants off? Because I gave the other guys most of my cash, but I do have a few dollar bills left, if that’s where this is heading.”
“If you promise not to talk about other men right now, your day is about to get wilder. Take off your clothes and get on that bed.”
Her eyebrows rose as she glanced over her shoulder. “That bed? The new one I haven’t paid for that isn’t mine?”
I shucked my pants and dropped them to the floor with a clink of change, keys and belt buckle, leaving me in nothing but my boxers as I took a step in her direction. Her gaze dropped, temporarily transfixed by the obvious arousal tenting my shorts.
“It’s in your house,” I told her. “And this might be the only room we haven’t been in over the last few days.”
I’d taken her in the living room yesterday—pulled her onto my lap and had her right there on the couch after reading a scene she’d written. We’d already made use of the kitchen and revisited the pool. Now I wanted her here. On that bed, before everything changed again.