Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
She hesitated, then settled back against me with a small sigh. "Okay."
I pulled the cover over us as she tucked her head under my chin, her body relaxing against mine. Within minutes, her breathing evened out again, and she slept.
I stayed awake, watching the patterns of light shift across the ceiling, feeling the weight of her against me. In a few hours, she would leave, go back to her life in Bound in Blood. I would return to my role with the Copperheads and continue hunting for the information Vittorio needed.
But for now, in this quiet space between night and day, with Wren's hair splayed across my chest and her warmth seeping into my skin, I allowed myself to imagine a different reality. One where I hadn’t approached her with a lie — no matter how innocent or necessary — where the connection forming between us wasn't built on a foundation of secrets and half-truths.
It was a dangerous thought. Because for the first time in years, I found myself wanting something real.
Chapter Four
Wren
Iwoke to sunlight slicing through cheap blinds, warming my face in strips of shining gold. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The unfamiliar ceiling above me was cracked in places, water stains forming continents in the corners. Then I felt the weight of an arm across my stomach, and memories of the night before crashed back like a very pleasurable wave. Rocky. The bar. The ride. The fucking incredible sex that had left me sore in the best possible way.
I turned my head to find him still asleep beside me. Without the intensity of his gaze, he looked different. Younger maybe, or just less… harsh? Guarded? His face relaxed in sleep, the hard lines around his mouth softened. His hair stuck up at odd angles where I'd run my hands through it last night.
The sheet had slipped down to his waist, exposing his torso. Holy shit, the man was built like a fucking god. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, heavy muscles defined without being overly bulky. But what really caught my attention were the tattoos. They covered his chest and arms in a patchwork of ink that told stories I could only guess at. Sure, the men at Bound in Blood were all built solidly. Some from their military or law enforcement days, others from prison, but for some reason, this man was worlds above all of them.
Scars decorated his body almost as much as the tatts. I had to wonder what kind of life this man had led. Likely just as rough a life as most of the people I knew. Each mark represented a chapter in his life.
His eyes opened suddenly, catching me staring. I expected him to flinch or turn away. Didn’t most guys get weird the morning after, especially when they found you staring at them? Instead, he smiled. A real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Morning, little lioness," he said, voice rough with sleep. "Like what you see?"
"Maybe," I said, not willing to give him the satisfaction. "Your ceiling could use some work though."
He laughed, a deep rumble I could feel where our bodies touched. "Yeah, landlord's a cheap bastard. Coffee?"
"God, yes."
Rocky untangled himself from the sheets and stood, stretching his arms overhead. The movement pulled his back muscles taut and the ink across his shoulders rippled, making my mouth water. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on sans underwear, leaving them unbuttoned and hanging dangerously low on his hips.
"Stay put if you want," he said over his shoulder as he padded barefoot toward what I assumed was the kitchen. "Or come watch me work my magic." He winked at me over his shoulder.
The apartment was small, every surface was spotlessly clean but sparse, like he'd just moved in or might leave at any moment. No photos, no personal touches.
The whole place smelled of him. Leather and gasoline, and now the scent of coffee joined the mix as I heard the gurgle and spit of an ancient coffeemaker starting up.
I slipped out of bed, scanning the floor for my underwear. Finding them, I pulled them on, then grabbed his discarded T-shirt from last night and tugged it over my head. It hung to mid-thigh, which was decent enough for breakfast.
When over to him, Rocky had his back to me, digging through a nearly empty fridge. "Hope you like bacon and eggs," he said without turning around.
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms as I watched him pull out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. "Works for me."
Rocky grabbed a cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall and set it on the stove with practiced ease. He tossed the bacon in the pan before breaking several eggs and setting them aside.