Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
But I’ll never rest until I’m sure that woman isn’t who she looks so much like. My adoptive mother, the one who disappeared without a trace over a year ago. I’ve imagined the worst ever since—she was just as vilified as I was after the whole informant situation, if not more so. It didn’t take a huge leap of imagination to guess somebody got to her and silenced her forever.
But I swear the woman I’m now following through to the lobby could be her twin. I just want one good look at her. Maybe if she turns around so I can see her full face. I need to prove to myself that I didn’t see what I thought I saw.
Finally, I catch her head bobbing up and down near the doors. I bump into a couple walking hand in hand and murmur an apology, but I keep moving, hopping up and down on my tiptoes to see over the people between us. I want to call out to her, but the thought of shouting “Mom!” to a woman who can’t possibly be her makes my stomach tighten with embarrassment.
By the time I reach the doors and burst outside, she’s gone, and I’m freezing. I still wait a few moments, scanning the faces of the people milling around, but I don’t see anybody who looks vaguely familiar.
Maybe it’s for the best. I’d only feel like an idiot if I stopped her and she turned out to be nothing more than a stranger. There are plenty of blond-haired women in the world. That didn’t have to be her.
No matter how much my heart tells me it was.
CHAPTER THREE
Quinton
Something’s off. She’s trying like hell to convince me otherwise, but I’ve known Aspen for too long. She’s troubled over something. She has to be.
Instantly, I imagine her being accosted by some dickbag back at the lodge while I was skiing earlier. She probably thinks it’s better not to tell me about it—always afraid I’m going to start trouble or something like that. She still hasn’t figured out it’s my job to protect her, not the other way around.
I reach across the table and take her hand, admiring her the way I’ve been doing all night, ever since she did a little twirl for me back in our suite to show off the red velvet dress she bought for the occasion. “I figured when you said you had something special planned for the holidays, I’d need at least one nice dress.” And it is nice, though I’d much rather tear it off her and leave it in shreds.
She tucks an errant strand of blond hair behind one ear when she feels me staring at her. “What’s going on? Are you feeling okay? Too much hot chocolate earlier?”
At least she smiles at that. “I don’t think there’s any such thing. I think you’re making the whole idea up.” Then she shakes her head, growing serious. “No, nothing like that. Maybe I’m just a little jet-lagged.”
A tempting little smile teases at the corners of her mouth. “Or it could be the way you’ve exhausted me.”
“Since when can you not keep up?” All that earns me is a playful grin.
“I made a new friend today,” she tells me once our wine arrives. So far, the service has been nothing short of impeccable, though I would expect nothing less from a Michelin-starred restaurant. We’ve gone with the chef’s tasting menu and await the first course. As I requested, a bouquet of red roses awaited us when we sat at our table—their color almost matches Aspen’s dress.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I muse before sipping a light, crisp Chardonnay. “You seem to make friends wherever you go.” It’s in her nature to draw people in with that big heart of hers like moths to a flame. I’m more of the get the fuck out of my way and leave me alone.
“Maybe because I don’t look all intimidating and growly everywhere I go.” She lowers her brow and purses her lips in what I assume is supposed to be an imitation of me. Really, it’s not a terrible impression. “We bonded over our books.”
And for a moment, when she talks about this, she looks happy. But then I watch in real-time as she remembers something that dims the light in her eyes. When she feels me watching, she looks out the window, pretending to be distracted by the twinkling lights strung up in the many towering firs. They’re pretty but not worthy of the attention she’s giving them.
“What do you think about shopping tomorrow?” I ask. “I don’t know that I could take a second day in a row of being out on the slopes.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were going to turn into an old man overnight. If somebody had warned me, I might’ve thought twice about getting married.”