Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
And she came with my name on her lips.
Over the fucking phone.
I had never been a fan of phone sex before. Even the idea seemed seedy and impersonal. But it wasn't that. Not with her. It had been sexy. New. Exciting. Satisfying. Even if it did leave me wanting her more than I had before, which didn't seem even possible.
There was this tugging feeling in my gut, something I understood, something that I had known all my life, something that I knew to trust when I felt it. An instinct.
About her.
And because I always followed it when I felt it, I had every intention of getting in touch with her for something in-person as soon as I was cleaned up and less road-weary.
But first things were first, I had to stop into the office to make sure shit was running alright with only Jules and Gunner around to keep an eye on things. Christmas season was never crazy busy to begin with, but I wanted to make sure there were no pressing cases that Jules had kept to herself because she didn't want to distract us from the case we had been on.
I spent two hours there, going through the files, before I finally decided to shut down work-mode, and head home to feel human again.
I had been walking out the front doors when I saw it.
Them.
I saw them.
Aven.
And Fenway.
Aven had absolutely no reason to be on this side of town. There was nothing here for her.
Except, of course, Fenway.
Since she had no idea that the rest of us were back.
She was climbing out of her parked car, smile huge as she saw Fenway walking down the street.
"Sweetheart!" he called, smile as welcoming as hers as he held out his arms, and waited for her to run into them.
Something, I watched with a fist in my throat, as she did, throwing her arms around him. His hands moved down her back, sinking into her ass, and holding her against him as he spun her in circles, head tucked down by her ear, talking to her as she let out a delighted squeal.
Fenway?
Fucking... Fenway?
That was who was stealing her time when I was gone? A man she claimed to have no interest in? A man I warned her off of?
I watched as he placed her back on her feet, his hands leaving her ass to frame her face - finally free of trauma, more beautiful than I could have imagined - looking down at her for a long couple of minutes, before lowering his mouth toward hers.
The punch to the gut was enough to knock my wind out of me.
And that was about all that I could take.
I turned, throwing myself down the alley beside my building, mind racing, heart pounding more than it had been when we were infiltrating a building with heavily armed Russians trained to shoot first, and ask questions later.
My arm swung out right before the mouth of the alley, my fist colliding with the unforgiving brick wall, the pain ricocheting up my wrist, the warm trickle down my fingers letting me know I had broken the knuckles open.
Great.
Like I needed to explain that one to anyone.
What could there be to be said?
Oh, I saw a girl I wasn't involved with technically offering up her mouth to a man I didn't like.
Yeah, that shit wouldn't work.
I threw myself into my car, my head slamming back on the rest as I exhaled a deep breath.
So much for my fucking gut on this one.
It was the first time it had failed me.
I guess there was a first time for everything.
FIFTEEN
Aven
I had no idea what the hell was going on.
One moment, I was getting a text from Fenway telling me to come say hello - and goodbye - because he was finally free, and jetting off to Sydney for the New Year. Because, apparently, the fireworks there could not be beaten. And, I figured, after weeks being trapped in a small space, he was itching to get the sun on his face, sand beneath his feet, and - let's face it - half naked women all over him.
"Try not to get into more trouble," I told him, giving him a stern look.
"Me? Trouble? Why, whatever would make you think I would be capable of such a thing?"
"Four. Million. Dollars." He had slipped and told me the night before what his latest mishap was costing him - never returning to Russia, and four million dollars. He did it the casual way that only wealthy people could about large sums of money. Oh, these shoes? They were such a steal. Only fifteen-hundred dollars! Meanwhile, my shoes were from Payless. On clearance. And I still fretted about the cost for a week after. Four million dollars for a mistake was simply absurd. It made my chest get tight every single time I thought of it. And yet Fenway seemed as calm as could be about the whole situation.