Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Sure, we had some of them in our pockets. But it was a small force. And there were a frustrating number of them who had actual morals.
Lula was silent the whole ride and the walk up to the door of the clubhouse.
“Come on, baby. Sit on the couch and I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“Can we… can we go to your room?” she asked, sniffling.
“Of course,” I agreed, leading her to the freight elevator then down the hallway to my room.
My room was pretty bare bones. I didn’t spend enough time in it most of the time to really worry about having it fully decorated.
That said, it had good bones. The brick with the window straight ahead, the dark wood floors, the exposed ducts in the ceiling. Add in the dresser, nightstands, and wooden headboard that Coach had made for me, and the place looked masculine and minimal, but not sterile. There were also lamps, though I had no idea where they came from. And, of course, the large TV across from the bed.
It was more than enough for what I needed it for.
But I was trying to look at it through Lula’s eyes now. And I wasn’t sure how she would feel about it all.
“Wow, are all the rooms this big?”
“Yep. Big perk to buying an old factory to turn into a clubhouse: massive bedrooms. More than enough bathrooms, an AC unit that could keep hell cool. Some of the rooms get their own built-in bathrooms, but since I’m not here as much, I have the one across the hall. But it’s basically all mine, since it’s only a few of us living here now.”
I pulled her inward and sat her on the edge of the bed.
“Give me one second. I need to get your knees and hands cleaned up.” And her face. But I wasn’t going to mention that. It wasn’t bad—just a few scratches. But I knew she was sensitive about anyone seeing her injured.
I grabbed the first aid kit, a washcloth, and filled a basin with some warm water, then made my way back.
She was silent as I knelt in front of her, carefully rinsing the gravel, dirt, and blood out of the cuts on her knees, then working on her hands. But I felt her gaze on me the whole time.
It was killing me not to ask what she was thinking. About me. About us. But Lord knew it wasn’t the time to press her about that when she was just attacked again.
So I kept my questions to myself as I pulled open some saline tubes, using them over each knee and palm, then wetting gauze with some to wipe down her cheek.
Finished with that, it was just some triple antibiotic cream and bandaging before I moved the supplies away and looked up at her.
“What do you need right now? Stiff drink? Back rub? To be serenaded with my Academy Award-winning voice?”
“The Academy Awards are for movies.”
“I can dust off a musical song for you. Grease 2, perhaps?”
“Of course you would pick two over one.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s the hornier one.”
“Oh, they were both plenty horny,” I countered, making her lips curve up ever so slightly. “Really, baby, what do you need?”
Her gaze slipped down, like she knew she would lose her nerve if she was looking at me.
“Can we just get in bed?” she asked.
“We?” I clarified.
Her eyes flicked up. “Yes.”
“We can do that. Let me just get you a tee. Your dress is all dirty.”
With that, I grabbed a shirt, and she let me pull off her dress, leaving her in nothing but her bra, since she hadn’t paused to grab her panties when she fled her office. They were in my back pocket.
I pulled the shirt over her head, then reached under to undo her bra and pull that off before she slid her arms into the sleeves.
I toed off my shoes and pulled off my pants before making my way to the other side of the bed.
“Can you take the shirt off too?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“As you wish,” I said, whipping it dramatically off just to get the little lip twitch out of her.
I slid in beside her but let her decide how close she wanted to get. Which, apparently, was practically on top of me. Not that I was complaining.
“What is that scent?”
“What scent?” I asked as my hand drifted up and down her back and across her hips.
“That coconut-lime-rum scent. I can’t tell if it’s body wash, deodorant, or cologne.”
“Because it’s all three. And shampoo and conditioner.”
“How did you get your scents to match like that?”
“Morgaine. She mixes up her little witchy concoctions. We each get a signature scent. This is mine.”
“It suits you.”
“If it makes you want to get all up on me, I will lower myself into a vat of it daily.” That got a small laugh out of her. “How are you? Really?”