Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“It’s never going to happen,” he says calmly. “And if I can’t trust you to listen to me and stay put at the retreat while I head into town, I’ll have to tie you up before I go.”
I huff. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” he shoots back.
“Maybe I will,” I say, opening the small container of syrup. “I mean, you threatened to spank me earlier today and that hasn’t happened yet, so…”
“The night is still young,” he murmurs in a husky voice.
I pour a bit of syrup into a crispy, waffle reservoir and smile. “Promises, promises, Charles Sturbridge.”
His lips twitch. “You’re incorrigible, Kitty Sturbridge.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” I purr around a bite of waffle. “But I think I like it.”
“It means you can’t be reformed,” he says. “You’re just an irredeemable troublemaker.”
My smile grows. “No one’s ever called me a troublemaker before. I’ve always been too boring to get lumped in with the troublemaking crowd.”
“You’re the furthest thing from boring,” he says, making my chest fill with a warm sweetness even more delicious than my waffle treat.
“Thanks.” I pour another dollop of syrup onto my next bite. “You can be very charming when you want to be.”
He grunts and mutters something about “incorrigible” not really being a compliment that I ignore because I can tell he meant it as one. And I can tell he’s not as closed off to the idea of having help with Rex and the Sweetwater people as he’s pretending to be.
I just have to figure out a way to coax him around to my way of thinking.
Luckily for both of us, I’m very good at coaxing.
Which gives me a brilliant idea…
“I’ve got it,” I say as I lick the last dab of syrup off my fingers. “I have the perfect couple problem for us. Wait until you get an earful of this.”
Chapter Twelve
MATTY
Thanks to a swift swing through Target for supplies, we reach the retreat hotel just before ten. I approach the sleepy-looking woman behind the desk while Nora waits with Clyde’s carrier in the lobby, the better for her not to see the fake ID I’m using to check in.
Though I’m not sure it matters all that much anymore…
Nora clearly suspects that I’m lying to her about a host of things, including the true nature of my relationship with the Sweetwaters, my criminal inclinations, and the reason I just happened to have an engagement ring in my wallet. (I occasionally work on joint surveillance projects with one of two female CIA officers in Minneapolis. Since we’re never sure which of them will be available until the last second, we decided it was best if I held on to the fake engagement ring.)
But I can’t say I blame Nora for being suspicious.
I’m off my game. I would blame the crazy day, but it’s not any crazier than many of the other operations I’ve been involved in in the past, and I’ve never gotten this close to giving up and coming clean.
No, it’s not the day. It’s Nora.
Nora, who makes me feel like it would be safe to let down my guard with her.
Nora, who has a knack for relaxing me even as she drives me crazy.
Nora, who is going to be a fabulous Kitty Sturbridge, a fact she proves by leaning on my arm in the elevator and heaving a put-upon sigh as she takes the retreat literature from my hands. “Did you get a room with two rooms? The way I asked?”
“I did, darling,” I say as the doors slide closed, and I punch the button for the fourth floor. “The better to give my intimacy-challenged wife her space until we get our marriage back on track.”
Nora grins, but quickly slips back into character with another sigh. “Good. I can’t bear it when you touch me, Charles. Please don’t misunderstand me. I love you, I really do, but I don’t love your hands on me. Something’s shifted inside me. I’m not sure I’ll ever want sex again. It’s just so…messy and strange. All the grunting and squirming around naked. Just thinking about it is enough to give me an anxiety attack.”
I snort.
“What was that?” she asks, her blue eyes large in her shocked face. “Are you laughing at my anxiety issues surrounding sex and intimacy, Charles? That doesn’t seem like a very good way to start a retreat or the road to recovery.”
I sober. “You’re right, Kitty. I’m sorry. Of course, I’m not laughing at you. I want to fix things between us and find a path forward. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
She hitches her nose higher as we exit the elevator. She drags our new rolling suitcase while I tote the duffle bag and Clyde’s carrier. “All right,” she says in a cool voice. “But don’t be disappointed if this doesn’t work. The book I was reading said that once the thought of your partner naked makes you actively want to vomit, it’s very hard to come back around to seeing them as sexually viable.” She stops in front of our room, glancing up at me as she pulls the key from her back pocket. “And the thought of you naked makes me want to vomit, Charles.”