Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
And I was transfixed.
Totally transfixed.
I’d heard one thing that was more beautiful.
The laughter of my nephews.
But this was a close second.
I stayed transfixed for only a beat.
And then I dedicated my life to making him laugh as often as I could.
Thus I was smiling at him when he quit.
He didn’t look in my eyes then.
He stared at my mouth.
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Are you going to tell me about your military service?” I went on.
He shook his head.
“Are you going to tell me how your dad’s a dick?” I kept at him.
He shook his head.
“We’ll get there,” I mumbled, beginning to head to the door, still mumbling. “I’m hungry. Time for dinner.”
I walked out the door of my bedroom.
Kim Seamus “Mo” Morrison, my bodyguard and the most fascinating man I’d ever met, followed me.
CHAPTER 3
START WITH YOUR TOES
Mo
She was on the stage, busting out a performance to Shakira’s “Loca,” and making Mo, for the first time since he started with Hawk, wish he had another job.
Honest to fuck, if he managed to get through the whole night, and all three of her feature sets (this was number two), without jumping off the stage and punching every motherfucker watching her in the throat, it’d be a miracle.
He got why she was the headliner.
He got why it was a packed house.
She was graceful. She knew how to dance. She was beautiful. She had an awesome outfit on (or was taking it off).
And she was sexy AF.
Christ.
He’d learned during the first set that he needed to watch the crowd, which was his goddamned job, and not her or he’d be standing in the shadows just offstage, unable to take his eyes off her at the same time fighting his dick getting hard.
Which was what every motherfucker out there was doing.
And why Mo wanted to punch them all in the throat.
Fuck.
If they didn’t get this guy and soon, this was going to be torture.
Mo knew this without a doubt.
And he knew it wasn’t just about her dancing.
It was also about her just being her.
But he was trying not to go there.
And failing.
Her house was the shit.
Her fridge was as neat as his (if he went grocery shopping, which was rare, he was too busy working and hanging with his buds and his family, but if he did, the inside of his fridge looked like hers, mostly, without the lining up of shit, but he’d start doing that the minute he got the shot).
Her barefoot, all that blonde hair tumbling down, in that tight tank and those jeans with her little ass he could palm in one hand, for fuck’s sake.
That massive bed he’d give his left testicle to fuck her in.
The fact she could concede a point in a discussion without being a bitch about it.
Her huge, bright white smile.
And most of all, how she’d taken the news from Hawk and Smithie.
She read the letter. Hawk’s call. Smithie had not liked it (and honestly, Mo didn’t either), but Hawk wanted her to understand the seriousness of the situation.
Mo knew she’d been freaked.
Her face got a little pale, and that was it.
But he could smell it on her.
Then she listened to Smithie, and after, Hawk, total eye contact, short head nods, complete focus.
No interruptions.
No hysterics.
No backtalk.
Almost the same when he was going over things with her.
Sure, she balked at the shower gig. Sleeping in her room. He got that. It was an intimacy and invasion of privacy she wasn’t ready for.
She still didn’t give him shit and make him spend half an hour explaining precisely why he knew what he was doing, and she had to listen to him.
And she’d agreed not to bring in Eddie or Lee and his boys.
This, Mo knew, was to protect them. Those men had lived through a lot while claiming their women. Car bombings. Kidnappings. One of their women shot. Another one raped.
There’d been peace for a few years. They’d had weddings. Made babies.
It was all copasetic, or as much of that as it could be with Rock Chicks in the mix.
They’d go apeshit at that letter.
And Lottie knew it.
So she agreed immediately to protecting them by keeping them in the dark.
It was the smart call.
But for her, it was more the loving one.
Charlotte McAlister was a class act. Funny. Smart. Talented. Thoughtful. Together. Professional.
And sexy AF.
Yeah.
This job was totally going to be torture.
“Jorge, other side,” Hawk said in his ear and Mo turned his head to look at his boss who was standing behind him. Mo was unconcerned and unsurprised Hawk got the drop on him. If the man wanted to, he moved like a ghost. “Need you a minute.”
Mo only left his place to follow Hawk when he looked across the stage to see Hawk’s second in command, Jorge, standing there.