Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
My wife.
There they are again. Those two words… Two simple words that shouldn’t hit me like a lightning bolt to the heart, but they do. The way he says them—not like I’m his property, but like I’m his precious person. His girl.
His favorite.
He says it like the words taste as good in his mouth as they feel hitting my ears. Like he’s just been looking for an excuse to say them out loud and proud.
Something inside me splits open, and joy comes rushing in.
I’m so happy, so grateful, suddenly so certain that all my stressing about this attraction being one-sided was for nothing, that I act on instinct. My hands move before my brain gives them permission, reaching up to turn him around and pull his lips to mine.
Our mouths meet, and the world explodes.
This isn’t like our courthouse kiss—sweet and surprising and over too soon. This is a lifetime of craving a connection just like this one compressed into a single point of contact.
This is every moment I’ve watched him with Mimi and known he was the father I’ve always wanted for my little girl. Every night we’ve talked way too late on the terrace, and every morning I’ve caught him shirtless in the kitchen and melted in the warmth of his sunshine smile.
And from the second we collide, I would bet my hand that my fake husband feels the same way.
His fingers curl around the back of my neck as he devours my mouth, like he can’t stand the thought of letting me go and…
Wow…
Oh, wow…
I thought I knew what chemistry felt like, what desire felt like, but I was wrong. The longing rising inside me is unlike anything I’ve ever known. This is passion and need and tenderness, and every romantic wish I’ve ever had coming true.
The kiss is so intense that my knees buckle, but Grammercy is right there to catch me. He wraps his other arm tight around my waist, pulling me flush against his powerful body as I spiral deeper into the storm. The solid heat of him, the way our tongues communicate all the terrifying, thrilling things we’re too polite to say aloud, the sound he makes low in his throat as his heart hammers against mine, it’s…almost too much.
It’s like drowning, but I never want to come up for air.
His fingers dig deeper into my hip, and I cling to him like—
“Uh, what the fuck,” a voice mutters, followed by a soft gagging sound.
Grammercy and I pull back, gasping for breath as we glance over to see a green-looking Brad fighting the urge to vomit.
“Come on, Brad, for real,” his twin says, his eyes locked on Grammercy like he’s just performed some kind of magic trick no ordinary man will ever be able to duplicate.
And isn’t that the truth?
If a kiss like that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.
“Let’s go, chère,” Grammercy mumbles, threading his fingers through mine. “These boys have already wasted enough of your time.”
“Good night,” I toss over my shoulder as Grammercy leads me toward the front of the church. “Oh, and next time a woman tells you she’s waiting for her husband, I suggest you believe her.”
Her husband…
Her sexy as hell husband, who’s currently watching her with dark eyes that say he’s not done with me tonight.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter
Fifteen
GRAMMERCY
The convent’s garden is hushed, the air thick with the scent of lilies and a hint of autumn, right around the corner. Iron lanterns flicker along the path, but they only seem to make the shadows beneath the ivy-covered walls even deeper.
It would be so easy to pull Elly into one and pick up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted.
Christ, that kiss…
I can still taste her fire on my lips, and I’m never going to forget the look in her eyes when she pulled me down to her mouth. I’d bet my lucky skates that wasn’t just a show for a bunch of drunk frat boys.
But until I know for sure, until we talk this through, I have to keep my hands to myself.
Not easy, though.
Not even close.
All I want right now is another taste of my gorgeous, brave, smoking hot wife.
“Is this the way to the speakeasy?” Elly whispers as we wind past a weather-worn statue of Saint Cecilia, her hands folded over a stone violin toward the far corner of the garden, where an old crypt door is tucked beneath an archway, barely visible beneath the overgrown ivy. “Or has this fake marriage all been an elaborate plan to lure me to your cult’s secret garden and offer me as a virgin sacrifice?”
I glance over with a crooked smile. “Would’ve been one hell of a plan. But I’m not that smart, chère.”
“Sure, you are,” she says, her eyes flashing into mine, making me hope she’s still thinking about that kiss, too. “Smart and charming and exactly the kind of bait a cult would use to lure unsuspecting women into their lair. But as much as I hate to foil your plan,” she offers in a husky whisper as I stop beside the crypt, “I’m not a virgin.”