Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I can’t guess which.
All I know is, the former co-founder of a premier AI design studio is standing in my kitchen, whipping up blueberry pancake batter along with the cheesy eggs and hashbrowns I’d planned to make.
It doesn’t feel real.
Eventually, he senses me and looks up.
His green eyes blaze when we connect, burning like lanterns before he turns back to what he’s doing.
My stomach flips.
My skin feels too hot.
My toes scrunch like every bad rom-com movie.
God, we should keep our distance.
But I have questions for Kane Saint that desperately need answers.
And it’s awfully hard to look at him the same way now that I also know he had a big ugly public breakup with Daria Purty. I stalked her Instagram for over an hour last night.
Of course, his ex-wife is gorgeous.
All sun-bleached blonde hair with a fitness freak figure, shiny skin, and teeth so white they rival porcelain.
And she’s basically famous. She does a lot of product ads and modeling for the big brands, jumping around the globe to breathtaking places.
Judging by what Sophie said, that means jumping through a lot of men, too.
Her current bae seems to have stuck around for a little while, judging by the photos. He’s just as polished and pretty as she is with wiry muscles and an old-blood jawline straight from a cologne ad.
Nothing like Kane, who comes by his good looks with rugged honesty.
I wonder what brought them together.
Sure, he used to be a hockey star—he was an ice king in his time—but that doesn’t explain what they saw in each other.
If they ever saw anything at all.
In my world, people marry for leveling up their reputations or their money all the time. Love, who cares?
It’s more important that your spouse is a minimally fuckable powerhouse.
Also, nothing ever stays the same.
Maybe Daria’s taste in men has evolved. Maybe Kane’s taste in women shifted, too.
If they got together almost ten years ago, a whole lot can change.
“You can come join me, you know. Unless you want to keep creeping,” Kane says, glancing up again. “I don’t bite, duchess.”
Maybe I want you to.
The corner of his mouth curls up like he can hear my thoughts, but he stays grounded on what he’s doing.
Those strong hands are so, so capable as he cracks eggs and briskly whisks them around in a small metal bowl.
“Something on your mind?” He looks up from his stirring.
See? Mind reader.
“Sophie dropped by late last night,” I say, pulling milk from the fridge.
“Is she okay?” He stops what he’s doing and fully looks at me.
“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. I thought she was freaked out about the commotion last night, but she actually wanted to talk about something else.”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate before I say it. “You.”
“What about me?” His eyes narrow.
“Well, mainly that you’re really old and decrepit at the grand old age of thirty-six.” I bite back a giggle. “And the fact that she notices your grey hair.”
“Little snitch,” he mutters.
“But also… she told me a little about your past.” I eye him hopefully.
He grunts as he greases the pan with butter and clicks the stove on, offering nothing.
“You weren’t just a hockey player. You were famous.”
“Unfortunately. Nothing worse than having a name folks recognize, but I think you know something about that.”
“Um, yeah. She also mentioned Daria.” I say the name carefully, watching his face. “And she said you worked for a place called OptiSynth.”
That last word does it. His playful half smile flattens into a hard line of war and his face goes rigid.
“What else?” he growls. “She’s at that age where kids love to overshare.”
“Nothing bad, dude. Relax.” I step closer. “You don’t need to hide so much about your life. I’m not here to judge you.”
“Like you already have? You’re not stupid, Margot. I’m guessing you’ve found out what you needed to.”
“Well, I Googled you,” I admit sheepishly.
That whisper of a smile returns for a second, accenting his lush green eyes. “Hell, I’m just surprised you waited and didn’t dive in the first night.”
“I didn’t know you were a star then. You should be proud of your career.”
He snorts loudly.
“Nah. That part of my life’s over and I can’t say I miss it.” He shakes his head. “You hurt my feelings the first day. Couldn’t believe you’d never heard the name Kane Saint.”
“I don’t follow sports obsessively,” I say, patting his arm in false reassurance. “But you could’ve said something. It’s cool knowing we have an ice king in the house.”
“Former ice king,” he says dryly. “Like I said, that’s over and done with.”
“Never coming back for an encore?”
“Not after you retire,” he says. “As Sophie pointed out, I’m an old dude now. They wouldn’t have me back even if I tried.”
“You sure? You mean you’d never show up for younger players or charity?” I know how demanding professional sports can be, and how it’s not meant to be a lifelong career.