Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
He caught it with his thumb. “I hate that you’re still carrying this. I’d take it if I could, babe. I’d fucking destroy it for you. But even if you weren’t my woman, it’d still be devastating to see a woman as strong as you shrink under that fear. That’s how this kind of thing wins. Not when it happens—when it changes how you live afterward.”
His thumb brushed under my eye again.
“Trust me, nobody on this planet hates LA more than me. But that city, for all of its downfalls, is still a part of you. This Lofton. My Lofton. Lofton Beck. Any and all versions. You’ve got a house there. A life there. A seriously pushy best friend and her kid there. You can’t disappear forever.”
My grip tightened on his biceps.
“This could be the baby step you need. Private plane. Guardian ground transportation. I can make this safe for you. I swear on my life, I can.”
I swallowed hard. “What if I’m not ready?”
He flashed me a smile. “Then I guess I’ll have to put on an open button-down, some lace panties, a pair of heels, and we'll do it anyway. Because no one in the history of the world was less ready than me, and look at us now.”
I half-laughed and fully cried. “Please never do that.”
“Deal.” He gathered me closer, the hot water starting to turn cold, so I drew my arms up between us, getting as close to him as humanly possible.
“You really think you can secure it?”
“I know I can.”
I looked back up at him, searching for hesitation. Doubt. Anything.
There was nothing.
Just that steady, immovable certainty that was pure Devon Grant.
My shoulders loosened. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll do it. I trust you.”
That love in his eyes caught fire all over again. “Good. We’re gonna keep it that way.”
He kissed me again, deep and languid, sealing a promise I knew he could keep.
And then Devon and I did what Devon and I always did.
We got out of the shower together.
Dried off together.
Got into bed together.
And then drifted off to sleep in the complicated, comfortable peace that only existed when we were…
Together.
24
DEVON
I stood in the soundstage's corner dressing room, breathing recycled air, industrial equipment, and the sweat of too many people trying to make something perfect under artificial light.
But the worst smell of all was whatever the hell they had used to ruin Lofton’s face.
“Stop,” she said, without looking at me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it. Loudly.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I studied the deep crimson covering the left side of her face from hairline to jaw, blending into something iridescent from cheek to temple with the exception of a long black line curling from the corner of her eye. An elaborate silver headpiece added approximately four inches to her height, connected by a delicate chain to her left nostril.
The right side of her face was untouched.
Just Lofton.
Well, Lofton minus my favorite freckles. Because God forbid an audience see those.
She huffed. “Just say it.”
“It’s a bold choice. That’s all.”
“It’s a futuristic dystopian thriller, Devon.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
She finally spun the chair to face me, one eyebrow arched. “Like I have something on my face.”
“You do have something on your face.”
She pinned me with a sharp glare. “You’re the worst.”
I shot her a wink. “You don’t mean that.”
Madison, the makeup artist, let out a laugh from behind the hairpiece she was securing. “You two are funny.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Lofton replied, swinging back to the mirror.
I pushed off the wall and crossed the small dressing room, planting myself directly behind her. I tipped my chin down to get a proper look at both her and her reflection, taking in the full effect. Up close, the work was genuinely extraordinary—half warrior queen, half the woman who fed horses in pajama pants.
“For the record,” I said quietly, “you look incredible.” I tilted my head. “Half of you, anyway.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad I brought you.”
“Me too,” I said, before heading back to my wall.
Getting her to that soundstage had been a production in its own right.
The two weeks between her saying okay in that shower and wheels up at Nashville International had been a meticulous circus. Apollo had gone ahead to LA four days early to wire the soundstage, pulling favors from the studio’s own security infrastructure and layering our equipment on top of it until there wasn’t a corner of that building that wasn’t covered.
Still not sold on Sebastian Cristobal’s innocence, I’d had Leo dig deep into his connections to find out where he’d be that weekend. Luckily for me, he was scheduled to be in Milan. We’d still waited until the very last minute to schedule Lofton’s plane—making absolutely certain that douchebag had touched down on an entirely different continent before we ever took off.