Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Harry checked his watch, then locked up the files, powered down his computer, and he went out and drove the block to Lillian’s.
This was something he’d never do, but he didn’t know if she’d be in comfortable shoes, and he didn’t want to make her walk if she wasn’t. The theater was only a few blocks away from her house, but Luigi’s was a couple minutes’ drive out of town and not walking distance.
So he parked outside her house and didn’t miss the movement of the curtains in the window of the place next door.
Even if it was mildly annoying, he felt his lips quirk, because he suspected that was Ronetta (or George) and the affection with which Lillian spoke of them meant he didn’t mind they were up in Lillian’s business.
He knocked on her door and was surprised when, about five seconds later, it opened.
Harry sucked in breath.
Her thick, rich russet hair was down and filled with curls and body. Her makeup was more dramatic and way sexier than he’d seen her wear it. She had on a complicated, light peach, long-sleeved sweater that had a crisscross, halter-type thing at the neck, which gave a keyhole hint to cleavage and left a good amount of her shoulders bare. She wore this with white jeans that fit phenomenally tight and showed a slender inch of skin between the hem and the soft taupe booties she wore. The booties had a stacked heel and put her at a height where he, at six one, wouldn’t have to bend his neck so far to kiss her (incidentally, he clocked her at around five eight).
Harry had no idea until right then the skin of a woman’s shoulders and a half an inch of their shin were so fucking sexy, but Lillian proved this true.
“Hey,” she puffed out, taking his attention to her face, which was flushed as he watched her eyes roaming his chest and then they dipped down, and she bit her lip.
Jesus Christ.
“Hey,” he replied, before her staring at his crotch and biting her lip like that gave her more of a show in that area.
Her gaze sped to his and her cheeks flushed deeper.
“You look nice,” she said, her voice husky.
“That’s my line,” he returned, and there it was, more pink in her cheeks.
“Come in while I”—she cleared her throat—“grab my jacket and purse.”
He came in.
She closed the door and hustled to the kitchen table.
There were new flowers there.
He took his attention off them in order to take in the show of Lillian shrugging on a jean jacket, her ass swaying, her hand flipping the long sheath of her hair out of the collar. She grabbed a little bag, shoved her phone and keys in, and settled the strap on her shoulder.
She turned and made her way back, stopping in front of him.
“Shit part out of the way first,” he said gently. “Your dentist doesn’t have your parents’ charts.”
She made that cute scrunchy face, even if why she had to make it sucked.
“I know the folks at Coeur d’Alene aren’t sitting on this. Cops don’t like unidentified bodies. They’re on it. We should hear soon, regardless,” he assured.
She nodded.
He put a line under it by asking, “Have a good Saturday?”
“I cleaned my house. I paid bills. I did my grocery shopping. So now I can be all about you, and tomorrow, I can be all about an epic chillout.”
“Doesn’t sound like a fun day, but I’m all about you being all about me, considering I’m on track to be all about you.” He enjoyed the renewed blush in her cheeks as he finished, “And a Sunday chillout is always good.”
Her head tipped to the side, sending her gorgeous hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Do you let yourself have Sunday chillouts?”
“Afraid people don’t refrain from doing stupid shit on Sundays. And they definitely don’t refrain on Saturday nights.”
“That means no.”
“Yeah, it means no.”
“And you still wouldn’t want to do any other job but this?” she asked.
“And I still wouldn’t want to do any other job but this,” he confirmed.
She stared at him.
And then he grunted when she threw herself at him.
Automatically, his hands went to her waist, and his neck bent so he could look down at her.
Which put him in position for her to slide up on her toes and press her mouth to his.
He smelled jasmine and rose, felt a soft woman pressed down his front, and Jesus fuck, her lips fit perfectly against his.
For so many reasons, he wanted to have more finesse.
But this was Lillian, who still missed her cat a year after her passing, had fresh flowers in her kitchen, took beating after beating, kept her feet and kept going and had a laugh that sounded like a song.
And she’d thrown herself at him.
So he didn’t have finesse in him.