Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“And what was his name?” I ask, hating that I asked the question about her dating history in the first place.
“Are you going to make him disappear for me, Mr. Billionaire?”
“Yes.”
Her smile falls, and she swallows hard, watching me. She wanted morally gray? She found it.
“Not worth it.”
Leaning in, I motion for her to meet me halfway over the table. When my mouth is next to her ear, I whisper, “No one touches you in anger and lives to tell about it, angel. You’ll give me a fucking name.”
She turns her face and kisses my cheek, brushing her nose against me. “Thank you, but in this case, it really is unnecessary. He’s already dead. Hiking incident two years ago.”
Billie sits back and cringes. “Sorry you asked?”
“Yes, but not for the reason you think. I hate that you went through any of that.”
“And I hate that you were once married to literally anyone, even if she is a nice, pretty girl from an appropriate family who ended up happily married to your best friend. So I guess we’re even.”
We stare at each other across the table, and I marvel again at how incredibly strong this woman is. One would think a younger sister of four brothers would be weak or entitled. Spoiled, even. But Billie is intelligent and thoughtful, so I’m not surprised that I feel that same connection with her from the first night we met.
The only thing that’s different is her eyes. She’s so … fatigued. And it’s only just past eight o’clock.
“Why do you look so tired, angel?”
She blinks at the sudden change in subject. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I’m taking you home with me.”
It’s not a question.
“Ready when you are.”
Chapter Eleven
BILLIE
Miller turns onto the driveway leading to Connor’s house. When we go around the bend and the sprawling mansion comes into view, my jaw drops.
I didn’t even know this house existed out here. It’s what I would call rustic but still fancy. If you took a cute little rustic cabin, the kind you might find in a Hallmark Christmas movie, and fed it steroids for about ten years, this is what you’d get.
I bet it’s stunning all dressed up for the holidays.
“Wow,” I mutter, taking it all in as Miller stops in front of the house in the circular driveway.
“You’ve been here before,” Connor reminds me.
“But I didn’t see it,” I reply and turn to him. “I was too busy trying not to die to check out your cozy mountain getaway.”
He smirks, but his eyes are hard as he reaches out to drag his finger down my cheek.
“Let’s make happier memories here, bumble.”
Connor pushes out of the SUV, and rather than walk around to open my door, he simply reaches in, pulls me across the seat, and helps me to my feet.
“Thanks, Miller,” he says as he takes my hand and leads me toward the door.
I glance back over my shoulder and give Miller a grin and a wave, and then we’re inside, and I can’t help but say, “Wow,” again.
“These windows,” I murmur, walking through the great room to stand at a wall of windows with a killer view of the mountains. The ceiling in here has to be thirty feet tall, and the furniture is soft brown leather with area rugs in burnt orange and brown. “I hope you put a ridiculously huge Christmas tree right here.”
I plant my feet in the center of the windows and look up, raising my arms over my head as if I’m the tree.
“And tons of garland along that railing.” I point up to the second floor, where a catwalk must connect the house’s two wings. God, those wrought-iron railings are gorgeous.
When I look over at Connor, he’s watching me with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall. He’s in navy slacks and a light blue button-down. His sleeves are rolled almost to his elbows, and his top two buttons are undone. His dark hair is tousled, likely from pushing his hands through it throughout the day.
He’s so fucking handsome. So tall and broad and muscular. He could give Henry Cavill a run for his money, and that’s saying a lot.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be bossy about holiday decor. It’s just really the perfect spot for a tree.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” His lips pull up at the sides, the way they do when I amuse him. I’ve learned that full smiles from this man are rare, earned, and spectacular. He pulls one hand out of his pocket and holds it out for me. Without hesitation, I cross to him and slide my palm against his, loving the way his warm hand engulfs my own. “Do you want a tour then, angel?”
“Sure, I’ll take a tour.”
He kisses my forehead—forehead kisses are not overrated. If anything, they’re underrated and should be doled out more often—and then leads me through the house. The kitchen is any chef’s dream. I’m not a chef, but if I were, I’d want to cook in there all day. Again, I can picture myself in there with my mom and Birdie and my girls baking holiday cookies, but I press my lips together, keeping that thought to myself.