Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
My lips were numb, and my entire body was shaking.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll say it again and again if you need me to,” he murmured, wiping off more tears. “I want to be with you. Even if that means staying here in Paris where the art lives or moving to Texas where your family lives. Even if it means you can’t keep from nicking a few things here and there, although I’ll do my best to stop you.” His grin made his chin dimple even deeper. I wanted to lick it.
“No more nicking. I promise. I’m done,” I said quickly. I wanted to reassure him, and I knew there was no question which I would choose between stealing art and having him in my life.
I’d choose him every time.
“Kingston Wilde. I’m yours if you’ll have me. But I have one condition. No more secrets. No more trying to protect me by holding back. You have to trust me from here on out.”
Trust me. Did he have any idea he was asking the impossible?
But it wasn’t impossible. Not really. Because I could tell by the look on his face, Dirk meant every word.
“I’m falling in love with you too,” I admitted. “So much. I was so scared I’d ruined everything, that I’d—”
He stopped my babbling with a hard kiss. His hand held the back of my head so I couldn’t escape.
As if I’d ever want to.
Epilogue
Falcon - Five Months Later
The door to our room slammed open, waking me out of a dead sleep and sending the cats rocketing off the bed in search of sanctuary somewhere other than here. King still snored in my arms, but I could tell he was faking. MJ had taught me the signs.
“Get up. I found the perfect place for you guys.”
I blinked open one eye and recognized King’s brother West in the open doorway. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s seven in the morning,” West said. “And I just got a call from Old Man Fowler.”
“Do people actually call people Old M—”
“Yes,” King muttered. “But don’t call his wife Old Lady Fowler. Ask Otto how we know.”
Another voice entered the conversation. “I was drunk. That’s not fair.”
I recognized Otto standing behind West.
“How many of you are there out there?” I asked, not letting go of my boyfriend’s sexy-as-fuck body. We were both naked under his grandfathers’ ancient stack of quilts.
“I tried to tell them to let you sleep in,” MJ’s familiar voice chimed in, “but they said something about striking while the iron was hot.”
“Wait,” King said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You mean Old Man Fowler’s place next to your medical practice in town? That big Victorian house?”
West looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Yes! We could be work besties. Lunch breaks, free STI checkups—”
“What?” I asked. “What the fuck is he talking about? No, you know what? We talked about this after last time. No barging in without knocking.” I turned to King. “I thought your grandfather promised to put a lock on our door.”
He shrugged. “We should get up and go down there. You’d love this place. It perfect. It’s not as big as West’s place, but it has a huge wooded backyard that’s already fenced, tons of natural light from big windows, a nice sunporch, and it’s only a block off the square.”
“Babe, it’s seven in the morning,” I pointed out. “It feels like… something else… to my body.”
“Lunchtime? Because you’ve got the time change wrong way around. Also, we’ve been here a week already,” King said. “That jet lag bullshit is starting to sound lame.”
“No shit,” Otto coughed.
“Zip it,” I snapped. “When we were here at Christmastime, I specifically remember you making a comment about how your family was always cockblocking you from Seth. Look where you’re sitting right now.”
Otto looked down at where his hip was against my knee on top of the covers. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he said before standing up and shuffling back toward the door. MJ didn’t budge from where she’d sat down next to King and started browsing through a real estate catalog that had been on the bedside table.
A scurry of paws and claws on the old wood floors of the farmhouse heralded the incoming arrival of the dogs.
“Oh shit,” King said, almost jumping up. I clamped a hand on his wrist.
“You’re naked.”
“The cats,” he squeaked.
“Shit,” West said, yelling out the door and down the hall. “Nico! Help! Someone get the dogs!”
“Everybody out,” King said. “Dirk’s right. It’s early. We’ll go look at the house later. That means you too,” he added to MJ.
“Party pooper,” she muttered, tossing the catalog onto the foot of the bed and following the rest of the crew out of the room.
I bolted out of the covers long enough to slam the door behind them and wedge the dresser across the door.