Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Savage.” Blythe glared. “Stop filling his head with your nonsense. That’s not true, Jimmy. Jonas is a friend. He’s married to Hannah. She loves him even when he bites her neck.”
“Especially when I bite her neck,” Jonas corrected and winked at the boy.
“Not when you call me ‘baby doll,’ ” Hannah declared firmly.
Jonas just ruffled her hair, laughed and disappeared into the far back room where no one could see him.
Jimmy looked up at his parents, his eyebrows drawn together. “Why does he call Miss Hannah ‘baby doll’?”
“I don’t know,” Blythe said. “You’ll have to ask her if you want to know.” She poured herself another cup of tea and put a scone on her plate.
Czar glanced out the window and then at his watch. “Blythe.” There was warning in his voice.
“We’re already here, honey, and Jimmy’s having fun.”
Ambrielle didn’t blame her. If the boy hadn’t really talked before and all of a sudden he was interested enough to engage, she wouldn’t want to leave either. They were surrounded by Torpedo Ink, and Jonas was there as well. Still, Ambrie had that dark dread in the pit of her stomach that refused to go away.
“What are you thinking, Inez?” Mama Anat asked. “We can’t possibly host everyone. Could we?”
“Someone has to do it. I was texting with Jackson, and he thought it was a really good idea. You wrote all those beautiful songs, and we have Seychelle. Now Savage. Seychelle has the voice of an angel. Everyone always brings potluck, but we could ask Alena to cater. This is our chance to show the others that we might be small, but we still have what it takes to host something of that size.”
Ambrielle turned her head to look at Seychelle, who had gone pale. What had she missed? The little hats over the door danced merrily, announcing more visitors with a happy tune, and she felt Master’s presence instantly. She nearly climbed over Lana, who laughed and stood, allowing her to get to the aisle.
Ambrie didn’t run, she just stood looking at Master. His size was shocking to her. He wasn’t as big and dense with muscle as Destroyer, but he was close. He was ripped, and every muscle showed beneath the tight black tee he wore stretched across his thick chest as he moved toward her. His thighs were twin columns of muscles encased in blue jeans. He wore his vest open over the tee. His dark hair, cut short on the sides, spilled onto his forehead, covering a scar she knew was there.
His eyes met hers. Dark. Compelling. Moving over her, seeing everything. Seeing right into her. There were little white lines around his mouth. Creases that hadn’t been there in his face when he first left her. She waited until he was standing in front of her and, uncaring of their audience, reached up with the pads of her fingers and gently smoothed those lines.
Her heart turned over. He moved her every time with the way he looked at her. With the way he seemed to see inside of her.
He slid one palm around the nape of her neck under her fall of hair. “You have to stop worrying about me, princess.”
“That’s never going to happen, so you’ll have to get used to it.” She realized it was the truth. They had a bargain. He had those eyes, and he was capable of things she needed desperately. She’d seen the killer in him, and she had wanted that man. Right there, in that moment, Ambrielle realized she didn’t want Kir “Master” Vasiliev, her husband, to kill anyone for her. Not him. He’d been used too many times by too many people who should have seen that he needed care. That he was a good man and was vulnerable. Now he was hers to look after. She was not going to use him like everyone else had.
Who, then? Because Walker Thompson, Gleb and Denis had to die. Savage? He was capable. Reaper? Maestro? Savage had Seychelle. She would never risk Savage when he belonged to Seychelle. Reaper belonged to Anya. Maestro, then? He was a stranger to her. She didn’t know what kind of man he was. None of them, then. It was up to her to rid the world of men like Thompson, Gleb and Denis. She had known that all along. Her father would have been horrified at the idea that she wanted someone else to do her dirty work for her.
Master leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “Never play poker, baby, at least not with me. You’re an open book. I’m tired and want to lie down. Let’s go home.”
Ambrielle slipped her arm around his waist and turned back to the table to say her good-byes. As she did, outside on the street, a song played obnoxiously loud, the guitars and drums blasting, filling the air between the various stores and climbing to the clouds.