Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Since Elliot was well enough to be back on his feet, back in the kitchen, and back on the boat, he’d thrown himself back into all of it. I’d forbidden him from going back on the fire team. Something we argued about since men were unsurprisingly surly about being told what to do by protective women. Wasn’t that a treat?
Eric was on my team for the time being, giving Elliot an additional week off which Elliot groaned about.
He healed fast, though his broken ribs were still paining him, the bruises only just fading. I’d memorized every scratch, every bruise, intending on reproducing them on Jasper’s body.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that yet, but my other plans had been moving forward. There was no way he was done with his fuckery, and knowing him, it was only going to get worse. My renewed sense of urgency to implement my plans didn’t extend to starting to push Elliot away, be a bitch, and generally make him fall out of love with me.
He hadn’t repeated the words he’d uttered in front of his family and fire chief that day in the hospital. He didn’t need to. I felt them in every touch, every gaze, in the low timbre of his voice when he spoke to me.
It was agony, his love. Because it was pure and nice and made me feel complete and horrid at the same time. Even more so because I loved him back. With every part of my wretched soul.
My love for him was one of the only good things about me.
I hadn’t said the words. I never would. Because that would ensure Elliot fought for me, whatever I did. It would be the hook on his insides that made him refuse to believe whatever I had to do to convince him we were done.
As it was, I had almost entirely figured out my plan of attack in bringing down an international crime organization, yet I still didn’t know how to orchestrate a simple breakup.
“I have a proposal for you,” I said to Elliot as I sat beside him. He instantly pulled me into his body in a way that was second nature to him those days. If I was within touching distance, he reached for me.
It was something I should’ve found suffocating since I was not affectionate in any kind of way. Yet I relaxed into it. Every time.
His free hand extended to where a feline with patchy, regrowing fur was purring and sleeping on top of the sofa. She let him pet her. And Clara. She hissed at me and attempted to maim me whenever I went near.
Suffice it to say, Fluffy did not have any incurable diseases. Her vet bill had been obscene, but I couldn’t come up with a way to kill the thing without raising questions. So I’d somehow acquired a murderous—if only toward me—feline which left dead rats on the doorstep and gave Clara oodles of joy.
I was stuck with the fucking thing.
Thankfully, Elliot had somehow trained it to not use a litter box but go to the bathroom outside, since I’d vowed I’d poison its kibble the first and only time I’d been presented with a soiled litter box.
“You better be hiding a ring box somewhere then, because I’m a diamond guy.” He flashed me a cheeky grin.
My stomach pitched at the obvious joke and the offhand way he said it. Had we entered into the phase of our relationship where joking about marriage was commonplace?
I kept my poker face even though the prospect of marriage to Elliot wasn’t abhorrent to me. Not even a little bit. “Nothing sparkly, I’m afraid.” I leaned forward to reach for my purse, grabbing the papers I’d drafted earlier in the day.
“Reminiscent of the day we met.” Elliot looked at the papers then me, eyes twinkling.
My heart did that thing where it somersaulted, feeling like a lovesick idiot. I didn’t let that show on my face, though.
“This time I’m not demanding money,” I replied. “The opposite, in fact.”
Elliot’s eyes lost a little of their sparkle, and his smile faltered. He grasped the papers from me, reaching to the side table for his reading glasses. Despite my uncharacteristic nerves about the situation, my mouth watered at the sight of Elliot in reading glasses. He wore the shit out of them.
I made a mental note to request he keep them on later. If he still felt like fucking me later. If he even still wanted me later. The confidence I’d had about this proposal quickly dissipated as I recognized the risk I was taking. Male egos were unpredictable and fragile things. Even if Elliot was the exception in almost every way, he still had the Y chromosome.
“What is this?” he asked after reading carefully for a handful of minutes.