Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Eve yanked open the door, put her head down, and tunneled through the mass of people.
Madden’s bellow echoed in her wake and it occurred to her the scene they were making. A lovers’ spat. Airing their marital woes on the New York City sidewalk. It was the worst way to detract from the abundance of attention already being paid to them, but she’d lie low after this. After she escaped.
Behind her, she heard a grunt of pain and recognized the sound as coming from Madden, her heart flying up into her mouth. Madden’s shoulder. Oh god, this couldn’t be good for his injury. He was going to hurt himself even worse trying to follow her. Why couldn’t she do anything right this morning? “Hey,” she shouted, backtracking through the crowd, pulling reporters out of the way, shoving cameras without thinking. “Watch his shoulder. Hey! Please, watch his bruised shoulder!”
With a collective mutter, the crowd stepped back to give him space. Eve, as well. The tangle of voices silenced little by little until there was nothing but herself and Madden looking at each other from a short distance, their audience waiting in rapt stillness for something to happen. It was impossible not to acknowledge how truly gorgeous Madden looked with his naked, muscular torso, a stark white bandage on his shoulder, his finger-brushed hair, the low-hanging black sweatpants.
A puckered scar on the lower corner of his stomach.
He looked surly as hell, his eyes like twin blue bonfires.
Hard to believe this was the same man she’d played house with last night.
Heck, if she had a camera, she’d be filming him, too, but for now, the paparazzi seemed inclined to let things play out, but what did they think was going to happen?
Nothing, that’s what. She was getting on the road where she belonged.
No sooner had Eve turned to go than a familiar hand grabbed her wrist, jerking, causing her to whirl around and lose her balance at the same time. She crashed into Madden’s chest, his hand catching her chin to tilt her head back, that mouth stamping down on hers with such possessiveness, she lost her train of thought along with her reasoning skills and sense of survival, allowing him to take her mouth in a determined kiss that caused wires to cross and snap and fizzle inside her head.
Madden kissed her long and hard while the cameras shuttered away, and by the time she realized his intention, the damage was already done.
“You’ll get no distance from me, Eve Donahue,” he rasped against her mouth, keeping her jaw in his hand while delivering a firm, meaningful look. “I can see I’m not going to get through to you today, but I’m telling you right now, in front of God and everyone, you are my wife and that’s how you’ll stay.” He kissed her stunned mouth one more time, hard. “Drive carefully. My heart is your passenger.” Turning in a circle, he shouted, “If she doesn’t get to her car safely, I’ll get myself traded to Boston.”
A gasp blew down the block.
And with that, Madden turned and stalked back to the building, nearly ripping the door off the hinges to get back inside. Slowly, Eve walked to her car without incident, although there was the sporadic snap of a camera lens.
And the gradual dimming of what might have been.
Chapter Thirty
Madden unknotted his tie on the way out of his meeting with the Yankees’ general manager, letting the frosted glass door shut with a resounding click behind him.
Exactly nothing had been resolved, as he’d been hoping. Now, instead of following Eve back to Rhode Island, he’d lost almost an entire day trying to run interference with the press, to absolutely no avail. The only thing this meeting had served to confirm was what he already knew to be true. New York City sports journalism went big and splashy when they detected the public’s interest in a story, the fallout it caused in the personal lives of their subjects be damned.
This morning, when he’d looked out over the mass of cameras and shouting reporters, he’d realized this in a snapshot of clarity. There was nothing he could do to dampen what they considered his rise to fame and the public romanticizing of his and Eve’s relationship.
Romantic? They didn’t know the fucking half.
But they were actively trying to find out.
He’d hired security for Eve and, thankfully, she’d accepted. At least, that’s what he’d been told over the phone by the head of her new security team.
As predicted, she wasn’t answering his calls.
Could he really blame her after he’d kissed her in the middle of the avenue? Her one condition for marrying him had been to keep their union quiet. Well, he’d soundly blown the roof off that secret, hadn’t he? He’d been desperate to show Eve that he didn’t give a fuck about everyone else’s opinions. That he’d choose her, stand beside her, every single time. And yeah, his wife being photographed on the front page of the Post for everyone to ogle had roused his possessive instincts, because he’d also felt the need to make it crystal clear Eve was under his protection. That she belonged to him.