Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Afterward, we sat, talking about everything and nothing of import. As if we were normal. As if I were. As if we had a future.
It might’ve been the best day of my life.
Twenty-Two
Let it Be — The Beatles
With the reality of what was looming ahead of me remaining in the forefront of my mind, I never completely relaxed. I was also too lost in life, cosplaying as Elliot Shaw’s girlfriend. I spent time with his family, in his bed, intertwining our lives even further despite knowing I’d ruin everything.
Hence my nightly martinis.
I would’ve had the nightly martinis either way, granted, but I was drinking to drown my guilt instead of my sorrow.
I didn’t have any.
Sorrow.
Not while sitting in Elliot’s house, the windows open with the breeze blowing in, smelling of pine needles, tapping on my phone, returning emails while Elliot prepared to read after he’d cooked and done the dishes.
When Elliot clicked his tongue, I lifted my gaze from my phone to see his eyes scanning the room.
“What are you looking for?” I thought maybe I’d unwittingly left something important somewhere to make room for my laptop.
“My glasses.” A divot formed between his brows in a way I found both immensely sexy and adorable. “I could’ve sworn I left them on top of my book.”
I went stock-still, my fingers going numb around the stem of my martini glass. Normally, a man saying, “I could’ve sworn I left them here,” meant that he had no fucking clue where he left them and was looking for a woman to come find them because he was an overgrown child.
Not Elliot. He was not absent-minded. He didn’t just simply misplace things. Which was why my brain had registered the two other occasions he’d mentioned things not being where he put them.
Normal people brushed off such instances, because in a normal person’s life, you misplaced things. Again, not Elliot. If it had only happened once, I might’ve believed he’d been somewhere else in his mind. Twice was a stretch but enough to set off my alarm bells.
Three times confirmed a theory.
Russian spies used various techniques for their targets. To weaken their minds, to help make them more vulnerable.
One of those tactics was to routinely break into their targets’ houses then move around common objects to put them off-kilter.
I doubted Elliot had made it on the radar of any Russian spies. But I knew someone who’d studied every technique to unravel a person.
Jasper had been disturbingly quiet since he’d set the fire that almost killed Elliot.
I never let my guard down, never stopped expecting him to strike, knowing it wasn’t over. But life with Elliot in Jupiter, and being around my family had a way of sucking all of the urgency from me. It promised an idyllic version of life that I’d lingered in for too long.
I swallowed the last of my martini, fighting to keep my composure. Elliot was not going to sense my unease. He couldn’t.
“They’ll be around here somewhere,” I assured him, putting my glass and phone down to untie the sash on the robe I was wearing. “I’m assuming you don’t need glasses to see this.” I gestured down to my naked body.
Rather sad to resort to using sex to distract Elliot from the assassin for the Russian Mob who’s toying with him, but I didn’t know what else to do.
And I was hungry, desperate to suck the marrow of what remained of my life with Elliot.
The life that was already taking its dying breath.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Elliot snatched me by the waist, slamming my naked body into his clothed one. He cradled my cheek then ravished my mouth. “I don’t need glasses to see you.”
Then he got on his knees so he was eye-level with my pussy. I trembled as his hot breath met my already tightened core.
“But I’m going to have to get a closer look right … here.” He spread me apart to expose my clit, leaning forward to lay his lips on it.
My hands tore into his blond curls as I let his mouth drag me away from thoughts of Jasper, thoughts of death. Of endings.
For the moment.
“I’ll do the shrimp and another Bud, sweetheart.”
I looked at the vacationer with the sunburned cheeks and the slight glaze to his eyes, his buddies looking much the same. I’d watched them get louder and more obnoxious with every passing sip.
“You’ll do the shrimp, but I’ll reconsider the Bud if you drop the ‘sweetheart’,” I scowled at him. I wasn’t a waitress; I didn’t need his fucking tips. My man needed an extra set of hands, so I’d offered my own before I even understood what I was signing up for.
The patron looked properly chastised, his friends laughed and berated him.
I waited for him to try to save face by insulting me, my expression daring him to try. But he sheepishly mumbled an apology and broke eye contact.