Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Uh, actually—” He’s squeezing hard enough to break fingers, but I remember my freaking apartment is currently turning to ashes. Time to power through the pain. “There’s been a fire.”
Orin looks surprised. Gareth halfway turns to look at me.
“Fire?” Gareth asks.
“My—uh, our neighbor called. It’s the apartment.” I stare into Gareth’s deep green-and-gold eyes. His handsome, exceedingly angry eyes. I will him to understand. This is not part of the act. “It’s really bad. I need to get on the next plane to Texas.”
Gareth doesn’t look away. He stares at me, expression tense. I’m basically begging him with my eyes: this is real, this isn’t fake, this isn’t part of whatever crazy game he’s playing.
My life is really burning to the ground as we speak.
“Sounds serious,” Orin puts in.
“Would you gentlemen excuse me?” Gareth says smoothly. “I need to speak with my wife in the hall for a moment.”
“By all means.” Orin gestures expansively. “I have a cousin who died in a house fire. Rotten old drunk, too wasted to smell the smoke. Died in his basement.” Orin laughs, an ugly sound. “Go ahead, get it sorted. We’ll wait.” He puffs his cigar. “Our time isn’t that valuable.”
Gareth is standing in a flash, one hand around my waist protectively. He steers me to the door and, before we step outside, he turns me back toward him. The look in his eye is pure rage, but his mouth comes closer, too fast to stop, and I don’t have time to move before he kisses me.
I blink in total shock.
Lips. Tongue. Soft and warm. Delicious, tense.
His mouth touches mine, his lips surprisingly soft and wet. His taste floods my mouth, aggressive and intense, mint mixed with cigar smoke and whiskey.
I kiss him back, shocked by my body’s sudden reaction, like a lightning bolt rips me down the middle.
He holds that kiss a beat longer than appropriate, almost as if he’s as surprised as I am by how good it feels. Like a first kiss is supposed to feel. A rush, an excitement. A dam breaking, leading to something bigger. A hint of more to come.
Then he pulls back, his expression softer, almost confused, like he can’t believe what just happened.
“Be back in a moment,” he says before he drags me back out into the hall.
My heart’s racing from his touch. From that kiss.
Holy crap, that kiss.
Clearly fake, done for the benefit of the mobsters in there, but wow.
My cheeks are on fire, and my core’s clenching and tingling. I didn’t know I could react this way from one modest kiss, but it’s like Gareth’s touch woke something up deep inside my chest.
I knew he was handsome, but apparently, he’s also a fantastic kisser too.
Once the door’s shut, he all but slams me against the wall, his mouth inches from my ear. “What the fuck was that?” he whispers sharply. “Are you insane? Didn’t you hear what I said? Stay put. Don’t move. You had one fucking job—”
“My apartment’s really on fire,” I say in a rush, brain melting at the sudden proximity. What is with this guy and throwing me around today? Not that it’s so bad, but still, he’s getting a little too comfortable. “Also, your hands are on my hips. And you kissed me.”
He blinks once, looks down, and realizes his fingers are digging into my body. He pulls back as if I’m made of hot coals.
For a moment, there’s silence. He looks at me. I stare back. I want to feel that mouth again, but no, I don’t want that, I don’t want him at all. I’m only confused and on edge because of the fire. That kiss was bizarre, that whole thing was totally insane. My heart’s racing, my head’s pounding.
Despite the profoundly weird shit that just happened in that private room, I need to get home.
I can deal with that stuff later.
Because if I don’t get home, I may have nothing left.
No money, no prospects, and if I lose everything else because of this fire—
I don’t know where I’ll be.
I can’t afford to replace my wardrobe. My laptop. My memories.
“Please, Gareth,” I say softly. “I need to go home right now. There’s a flight—”
He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, and flips a black credit card into my hands. “Take it. Go home.”
I blink at the card. “Seriously?”
“Buy whatever you need. I’ll try to salvage the mess in there and meet you back in Texas tomorrow.”
“Gareth, I can’t just—”
“Go, Fiona,” he says, sounding pissed. He steps back from me with visible effort. “Good luck.”
“Uh, you too.”
He turns away and disappears back into the room.
Leaving me alone with a heavy black credit card cradled in both hands, the ghost of his touch on my body, and the memory of his words ringing in my ear. My new wife, Fiona Kelleher.