Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Does that happen?”
“It has. There’s a chance, or so they say.”
I nod hopefully.
Poor Sophie.
She’s definitely the kind of little angel who doesn’t deserve this.
“So the shoes help support her feet, right?” I ask.
“Yes, and manage her pain,” he tells me. “She’s unlucky. Like I said, a ton of people have flat feet and don’t wind up with problems at all.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I dwell on his words.
She’s blessed to have a lovely supportive dad and a caring brother, a stable home, but it’s so unfair that she has to go through this.
One day, I’ll have questions for God.
Nice questions, but still…
“As far as disorders go, it could be worse,” he continues. “She had claw toe when she was a kid early on, and there was no way around that surgery. Her hospital experience wasn’t the best. My ex insisted on flying her to Minnesota for it because she didn’t like how short the NYU doctors were, so what did they know? Completely stupid shit, going all the way to Mayo, when Soph could’ve been back at home the same day, recuperating.”
“There’s the anxiety,” I say sympathetically.
“Yeah, right the fuck there.” He stares into the water. “The shoes are more of a temporary fix, a wait and see. If it gets worse, we’ll have no choice but to consider the corrective surgery.”
“But if they get better, like you said, then there’s no need to put her through another ordeal.”
“Glass half full. I like that, especially if it’s beer,” he jokes.
My smile burns my face off.
“Whatever, though. I just wish she didn’t need the damn shoes while we’re waiting. It’s hard on her emotionally,” he says, his expression dark.
“Does she still get bullied?” I ask.
“What do you think?” His eyes flash darkly.
My face flares, hotter than ever.
“Oh, sorry. Kids can suck when people are different. Same for adults. But at least they have time to grow out of it,” I say. “I don’t think I know a single person who hasn’t been bullied at least once when they were little.”
“Even you? Or did the Blackthorn name scare them straight?”
“I wish!” I cover my face briefly. “You think I’ve always been this glamorous? My brother was the cool kid. I didn’t learn how to stand up for myself until my boobs grew in—and then I had to figure out how to deal with boys leering and girls whispering jealously behind my back.”
Kane’s eyes heat when I mention my breasts, though he doesn’t break his gaze.
“I try like hell to do right by my kids and teach them respect. Wish everybody else would put in half the effort.”
“For sure. But I survived the teen years, and Sophie will too. Especially if I can come up with something to help her… They’ll just be a design, though. They’ll have to be sent off to be custom made with her specs in mind. But it’s a start.”
“Her shoes are already special orders,” he says. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Oh my God,” I tease. “You have her shoes specially made and you made them black?”
The water swirls around us as he makes a sudden move toward me. Laughing, I fall back.
“There were three color choices: grey, white, and black. Or are you telling me I have the fashion sense of a rock?” he asks, moving closer now.
Humor gleams in his eyes, fanning the wicked blaze I’ve been fighting in my core since the moment I slid into the water next to him.
“Just a little. But you know what, you can learn. And you’re doing a great job as a dad.”
“Yeah? Hell of an endorsement, duchess.” He settles beside me, close enough so our arms touch.
“It must be hard work, being such a good man. You should let go sometimes, you know? This stalker thing has everyone rattled, but we’re still on vacation. Both of us.”
“Let go how, woman? You sound like you have suggestions.” When he looks at me now, there’s no more humor in his eyes.
And there’s no mistaking it.
The stark bright question in his eyes.
The warmth of the water whisks through me, melding with my pulse, and I twist closer to face him.
His hand drops to my waist, and even though I can’t feel the heat of his fingers through the water, it lashes hot need through my bones.
“Maybe this,” I whisper, swinging my leg over his thigh.
Growling, his other hand lands on my hip.
You could cut this night with scissors, so thick with desire.
And when his eyes close, I press my body against his.
Underneath, he’s already hard as a brick, and it feels like acceptance.
He’s letting me make the move even though he could easily pin me down with no objection.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he snarls.
“I’m okay with crazy.” My voice is so small.
His hand squeezes my hip—hard—and his other hand moves to my back, molding me against him, tormenting my skin with a hunger to connect.