Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Two hours and countless bags of clothes later, Gareth led me into the last shop that he assumed I would like. I’d protested, saying I had more than enough, but he insisted, stating that I needed a wide variety of clothes since we had no idea how long I'd be living with him.
And he wasn't wrong about the store either, not when I brought over ten items back to the dressing room. And bless Gareth, he never once sighed or even commented on my inability to choose a piece without trying it on. And I had tried on lots in the last two hours.
Because I’d never been given the option of choosing my clothes before, I wasn't entirely sure what I liked to wear. But, as I slipped on a pair of warm, cozy black leggings, I instantly realized that it might be something like this. I surveyed myself in the mirror, not quite recognizing myself in the casual outfit. The black leggings hugged my curves like a second skin, and the cream-colored top I wore cut off just at my waist, ensuring that the leggings displaying my ass didn’t go to waste.
I opened the fitting room door, stepping out timidly as I had done every time before today, always worried that Gareth would change his tone on a dime. He never had, always nodding and telling me I looked good in everything.
He looked up from his phone as he heard the door open, and something flashed in his eyes as they raked up and down my body. It was a look he'd never given me before, and I swear it felt it like a caress down my spine.
His silence became unbearable.
“What do you think?” I finally asked, slowly spinning around for him to see the full outfit.
He wet his lips as I turned back around to face him, and I saw him visibly swallow.
“Is it that bad?” I asked, my shoulders dropping slightly. Every other outfit he'd been vocal about saying you look beautiful or that color looks good on you, but now nothing?
“You look...” His voice trailed off.
“What?” I asked. “I look what?”
“You look...delicious.”
A flash of heat streaked down my center at his words, at the way he said them like he was hungry.
I held his gaze, trying to gather the courage to jump at this opportunity. To cross the distance between us and do what little I could do to sway him in this moment.
“Did you need me to grab any more pieces for you?” the shop assistant asked as she rounded the corner.
And without taking my eyes off of Gareth, I smirked, pointing to the leggings. “I'm going to need these in every color you have.”
CHAPTER 5
Gareth
“Tell me something good, Dante,” I said by way of answer after my phone had buzzed twice on the nightstand next to my bed.
It’d been a long ass day—a long ass two weeks, if I was being honest. I’d just finished a shower that had done little to ease the ache in my muscles. I’d doubled my daily workouts, trying and failing to work the tension out of my body. It was pointless. No amount of lifting weights or cardio could stop the need pulsing through my veins, begging me to bust down Serenity’s bedroom door and sink into her body like she’d originally begged me to do.
“I don't have anything solid yet,” Dante said, and my chest instantly deflated. “We're getting conflicting information from all our sources. O'Brien is being tight-lipped about this whole thing.”
“Prick,” I said, shaking my head. “He hasn't made any demands? Any threats against the family?”
“Not yet,” Dante said. “A few of our guys spotted of some of O’Brien’s men lingering outside a couple of our establishments. They didn't cross any territorial lines, but they didn't exactly hide their presence either.”
“Shit,” I said. “Which ones?”
“Couple of the bars we own on Eighth, and two of the corner markets off of Park.”
I nodded, knowing exactly which ones he was talking about because those businesses were directly tied to the other side of my family's business. The side I stayed far away from, which included selling a whole different kind of product.
“Have you figured a way out of this peacefully yet, little brother?”
I hadn't figured out shit despite constantly working the problem. In between handling my major income stream, which was the pharmaceutical corporation I’d established several years ago and watching my passion project—my NFL team, the Cougars—make it into the playoffs, I had little room in my mind for problem-solving.
I was down to sleeping maybe three hours a night. Pair that with the willpower I had to exude to not give in to Serenity's increasing propositions, and I was stretched really fucking thin.
“Not yet,” I finally answered. “I’m working on it. The fact that Doyle hasn't made any demands or threats is concerning. I assumed he’d ask for money. Recompense for his stolen asset.”