Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I’m not jealous,” she whispers, looking up at me through thick eyelashes.
“You shouldn’t be.” I hold completely still.
Why is she sliding her finger past my waistband? I glance at the clock on the wall next to the door.
Four minutes. I have four minutes. I need more than that to properly fuck her.
“Just remember…” she tugs the waistband down an inch, her hand totally ignoring the pulsing head of my cock “…when bras and knickers land on the stage…” her finger traces the script “…you belong to me.”
I close my eyes. For the love of God … this woman likes to torture me. But I love it when she admires my tattoo.
I don’t deserve Scarlet …
but she’s still mine.
Scarlet is in red. The rest is in black.
“Now, finish getting dressed and go be a rock star.”
I look up at the ceiling and shake my head. “Sure, Scar … I can’t fasten my fucking pants now, but I’m sure the over 18,000 fans in this sold-out venue won’t notice.”
She presses a kiss to my chest then digs her teeth into my tense muscle.
I groan. “Not helping.”
“How much time do you have?” She kisses her way down my chest.
“Not enough.” My chin drops to my chest, jaw slack. I thread my fingers through her long curls, ready to protest.
“How. Long?” She frees my cock as she gets on her knees.
Fucking hell! “Two minutes,” I pant.
She runs her tongue along the hard vein then circles the head of it, her wicked intentions twinkling in her eyes. “I only need one.”
“Fuuuck …” I grab the wall next to me with one hand and fist her hair with my other hand as she proves, once again—No. Gag. Reflex.
*
Three years ago, when I walked out Scarlet’s door, I never imagined I could overcome the feelings of betrayal, grief, and hatred for everything and everyone in my life. I made a piss-ass attempt at building a house on my acreage, because building it for myself gave me little motivation.
Instead, I turned to my first love—music. My old manager once told me there’s nothing more magical in the music industry than a broken heart. So I wrote and wrote and wrote. Thirteen songs later, I felt a helluva lot better. I packed up my stuff and drove back to Savannah to get the girl.
I waited a week to ask her to marry me, without asking Oscar’s permission. Asking for it seemed like a bad omen. She pointed to my guitar and the tattered stacks of paper with the scribbled lyrics to all of my songs and said, “I want to marry a rock star. When you’re a rock star. I’ll marry you.”
Seven months later, I signed a record deal and my marriage license.
My wife beat cancer. She’s my hero, my friend, my lover. Scarlet is the reason I’m living my dream. I nod at the crew as I make my way to the stage, with my guitar in one hand and her hand in my other. We stop at the bottom of the backstage stairs, both of us grinning at the thunderous roar of 18,000 fans chanting my name.
“Tell me a story, Theo.” She says the same thing before every concert.
I kiss her long and hard until I know she’s gasping for air. “I’ll sing you a song, Scarlet.”
“Make it a love song.” She releases my hand.
I take several steps up toward the stage. The adrenaline begins to burn in my veins. “It’s your song. They’re all your songs.” I wink and take my spot—center stage at Madison Square Garden. Tonight, I will perform every song from my debut album, Songs of Scarlet.
*
Scarlet
Two Years Later
My name is Scarlet Reed. I enjoy counting breaths, observing the diversity of the human condition, and witnessing miracles. Oh … and I’m married to a rock star.
“Let me guess … you thought you couldn’t get pregnant?” Mary, our adoption agent, peers over the frames of her reading glasses, zeroing in on my baby bump. Theo signs the adoption papers then hands me the pen.
“How’d you guess?” I rest my hand on Theo’s leg. Six months ago I feared the worst—that my cancer had returned. After a trip to the doctor, we discovered I didn’t have cancer and my infertility from endometriosis was no longer an issue. I was diagnosed with a healthy case of pregnancy with the side effect of morning sickness. I didn’t speak for days, I was so gobsmacked. Theo, on the other hand, strutted around like a cock, claiming he had super sperm.
“I see it all the time, honey. Years of failed attempts leads to adoption. Then … boom! Once you stop actually trying, it happens. Most don’t go through with the adoption when that happens.”
I shrug, placing the pen on the paper after signing it. “We’ve been Maya’s foster parents for a year. She’s already family.” I smile.