Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Dammit.” I drop my forehead to hers. “Food’s done.”
I send her a frustrated look and she giggles, biting her lip to cut off the sound.
“Sorry,” she says, sobering with lips still trying to twitch. “It’s just… funny.”
“Funny? I’m ’bout to bust, and you laughing.”
“Feed me first?” Her smile is much too sweet, considering she’s sitting on my counter with her titties out.
I retrieve the dress from where I tossed it and hand it to her. “Okay, but you gotta put some clothes on if you expect me to wait.”
When I march over to the oven to silence the timer, she doesn’t bother snapping the bra back into place, but lets the straps glide down her arms and fall to the counter behind her. Her breasts sit high and proud and bare until she ruins it by pulling the dress over her head to cover the glowing brown skin.
“Satisfied?” she asks, her voice sultry and taunting.
“No.” I walk back to her and slip my hand inside the dress to squeeze her breast. “But I bet you not leaving this house till I am.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Wright Bellamy.” She laughs huskily, hopping off the counter and sauntering over to take the food from the oven. “Let’s eat.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Verity
I’m not sure how we go from nearly fucking on his shiny kitchen surfaces to eating and laughing about the crew’s on-set antics, but it’s a seamless transition. The chicken thing, as Monk called it, with rice pilaf, is delicious, and it takes me no time to get through my generous helping.
“I know you’ve noticed all the pining and longing going on between Neevah and Canon,” Monk says, setting his fork down. “But did you know Evan has a crush on our costume designer?”
“Linh?” My eyes go wide. “She’s married.”
“Yup. She doesn’t know he’s alive. Not like that anyway, but she’s a beautiful woman. I can see how he got… distracted. It’ll pass.” He stands and nods to my empty plate on the counter. “You done?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He gathers our dishes and walks them across the kitchen.
“You know who her father is, right?” he asks, his words a little lost as he bends to load the dishwasher.
“No, who?”
“Chap Brody.” He straightens and heads back to me. “That sculptor Dr. Garrison loved so much. His exhibit was in the fine arts building. You remember?”
My lips are numb and my fingers tingle.
“What?” I ask, my voice seeming to come from far away, from a night long ago. “He’s who?”
“The sculptor.”
Shattered glass. Painful cuts. The cold floor beneath my naked belly. Handcuffs slicing into my wrists. Cruel laughter and rough hands.
Flame.
“Hey, you okay?” Monk frowns at me, canting his head. “Vee?”
“Yeah.” I nod, forcing myself out of the haze of the past, out of that nightmare. “I’m fine. I just can’t believe Chap Brody is her dad. That Linh’s his daughter. That they’re…”
“Yeah.” Monk retakes the seat beside me at the counter. “Small world, huh?”
“Very,” I whisper, little panicked breaths expanding in my chest. It’s not that big of a deal. I was just blindsided, like some projectile landing in the middle of your plate at dinner. Tonight I want what’s next, but again my past seems determined to sabotage my future before I can enjoy it. If we don’t change the subject, I’ll fixate on this and ruin what has been a perfect evening so far.
“You, um, owe me a song,” I say, forcing a light tone and a smile.
Monk’s brow furrows and then smooths out. “That’s right. I did lure you here with the promise of my considerable musical talents.”
“Your humility never ceases to amaze me.” I chuckle, and the tightness between my shoulder blades gradually eases.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and leads us out of the kitchen, through the living room and up a set of floating dark wood stairs that empty into a hallway.
“Where are we…” My words trail into dust when we enter a huge open suite and a grand piano comes into view. “Going.”
“You wanted a song?” He walks us over to the impressive instrument. “My favorite piano.”
Through a door lies the primary suite decorated in shades of cognac and espresso. A king-sized platform bed and driftwood side tables take up much of the space.
“Conveniently located beside your bedroom,” I reply dryly.
“You noticed that, huh?” Monk sits on the bench and runs his hands over the keys in one sweeping flourish.
“You wine and dine the girls downstairs,” I say, settling on the bench beside him. “Then you bring ’em up here to Jodeci them out of their pants and slip right into bed.”
He gives me a wry look and quirks one dark brow. “I don’t resort to Jodeci.”
“Snob. You think I don’t remember that corny-ass song you wrote that Canon did the video for?”
“Oh, you wrong for that. That song gives me PTSD.”