Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Fuck.
What was wrong with him? He opened his mouth to try to add more. To tell her that maybe that extra rocker was a possibility but then he shut his mouth again.
If there was one thing he hated, well, let’s face it, there were a lot of things he hated, but one thing he really, really hated was wishy-washy people. And he wasn’t about to be one of those people. It didn’t matter that she seemed to turn his brain to mush.
He wasn’t going to go back on what he’d just said.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
“I have to give you an answer right now?” she asked, sounding amused.
“Like I told you before, Gem, I’m not getting any fucking younger.”
She snorted. “Neither am I, darlin’.”
“So? You got an answer?”
“Yeah. My answer is that I really want to kiss you, but turning that way is likely to hurt my back and then there’s a possibility that I might cry because I’m in a whole lot of pain right now. So I’m just gonna say it. I’d like to date you, to kiss you, to fuck you when I don’t feel like my muscles are on fire, and perhaps even scene with you.”
Leaning over, he cupped the side of her face and turned her head toward him. Then he kissed her. He kept it light and quick.
But it was really fucking hard to pull back because she tasted like sugar and spice and he really wanted more.
“Fuck, baby, your lips are delicious.”
“They are?” she said.
“Yep. And I’m going to want more of that once you’re not in pain.”
“I don’t really hurt when you’re kissing me.”
He hadn’t expected that sweetness from her and didn’t expect the punch of happiness that fizzed in his stomach.
When was the last time he’d felt any sort of happiness?
He couldn’t remember it had been that long ago. Maybe back before Mary-Anne had left him.
He thought she’d taken that part of him with her. Turns out, maybe it had just been in hiding, waiting for this girl.
“Let’s get you inside.”
Renard climbed out of the truck and raced around to the other side, opening the door.
He didn’t like that she was hurting. Didn’t like that there wasn’t much he could do about that. Didn’t like that she’d been at the club without him.
Definitely didn’t like that she’d been scening with another Dom.
Who he was gonna have to track down and have a small chat with.
He helped her out of the truck, and she stood there, breathing heavily. He grabbed her monstrosity of a handbag, putting it over his shoulder.
“Here. I can take it.” She reached out a hand for it.
“Don’t be dumb,” he told her. “I know you’re smarter than that.”
“I’m not so sure that I am. Smarter than what?”
“Smarter than to think that I would let you carry this handbag when you have a sore back and it weighs more than a small cat.”
She snorted. “It does not.”
“Gem, I’m carrying it. It definitely does. Want me to carry you too?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then how can I help?”
“Maybe . . . could I hold your arm? And can I move slowly?” she asked.
Fuck.
She had no clue, did she?
“Do what you fucking want, Gem. You could ask me for the fucking moon and I’d give it to you. And damn that sounds cheesy as hell. I hate cheesy people.”
“That’s on the list, huh?” she said with amusement as she slowly moved up the footpath and porch.
“Yep. It’s on the list. Your key in your handbag?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “On a bright pink pompom. You can’t miss it.”
He drew it out and unlocked the door. She shuffled inside and headed right over to a comfortable looking sectional. That would have been more comfortable if it didn’t have a mattress leaning up against half of it.
She sat with a sigh and stared up at him with weary eyes. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that you kicking me out?”
“Do you want to stay?”
“If you want me here, I’m staying. I know you understood what I was saying before, baby. But you don’t have to be happy with it. You can be mad. You can still tell me to get lost if that’s what you want.”
But he really fucking hoped it wasn’t.
Tell him to get lost?
Was he nuts?
“But I don’t want to,” he added. “That might make me an idiot, however I’m not sure I’ve ever been the marrying type. I’m not the sort of girl you take home to meet your parents.”
Every guy she’d been with had known that.
Although it had taken her a while to clue in.
“Who the fuck said you’re not the type of woman to take home to parents?”
“Um, Renard, you just told me that you didn’t have marriage in mind.”
“And that has nothing to do with you! It’s everything to do with me. I’m a volatile asshole. I’m not easy to be around. I’ve got my moods, most things annoy me, and I . . . I have a past that’s not pretty.”