Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome.” He sits next to me on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, head bowed. “Are you okay?”
I think about it for a few seconds. “Yes.”
“Can I ask what happened in your past? Is this about your friend who died? And can I ask how Murphy, your boss’s daughter’s fiancé, knows more about your past than I do?” He peers over his shoulder at me.
“My fiancé died, not my friend.” I give it a moment to sink in. When Callen’s gaze flits from the mug back to me, I continue. “I needed to escape life. So I rented a place not far from here. Murphy was the owner, the vacation rental host.”
I observe Callen and the subtle shifts in his expression. The details don’t matter, but I’m not sure he’ll believe that.
“Were the two of you close during your stay?”
I sip my tea then return my attention to the fireplace before answering with a tiny nod.
“How close?”
I don’t answer.
“Because the look he gave me earlier made me feel like an outsider, like I wasn’t the guy who was supposed to be in your bed.”
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say as if parsing hairs at this point really matters.
“But you want to?”
“Callen …”
“It’s a simple question, Alice. Do you want to fuck another woman’s fiancé?”
I flinch.
“Wow.” He stands, rubbing his temples. “If you have to think about that answer, then I have mine.”
“Callen—”
He holds out a flat hand and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for your loss years ago, and for what triggered you tonight. If you ask me to stay, then I’ll stay. But if you want me to go, then I will. And I don’t have to come back, if you’re ready for whatever this is to end.”
I don’t know what this is.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know who I am.
Callen walks past the sofa then stops and leans over the back of it, pressing his lips to the top of my head before whispering, “You have my number.”
The next morning, I wake at my usual five o’clock time, and I go through the motions. Meditate. Jog around the lake. Shower. Breakfast.
I arrive at the main house just before seven. Exchange shoes. Tie my apron. Smooth a hand along my ponytail. I cling to routine like my life depends on it. But my steps halt when two tired eyes meet mine.
Murphy slowly stands from a stool at the kitchen island. His hair is chaotic like it’s been a long night. Wrinkled white T-shirt. Dark jeans. No shoes.
I open my mouth to speak, but he holds a finger to his lips before jerking his head to the right. After a second, I wordlessly follow him to the basement stairs. We take a sharp right at the bottom until we reach the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Sometimes Vera comes down here to hide from Hunter. She says it’s the most quiet room in the house.
Murphy closes the door after I step past it.
I turn to face him, wringing my hands together. “How is Mr. Morrison?”
“Are you okay?” Murphy asks like my question doesn’t matter. The anguish on his face hits me like a twenty-foot wave coming onto shore.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He pushes off the door.
“How’s Mr. Morrison?”
Murphy brushes his knuckles down my left cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. When his hand disappears, I open them again. The intensity of his gaze locked to mine makes all the questions vanish.
It’s eerily quiet, except for my heart thrashing around in my chest as he slides his arms around my waist to untie my apron. Not a muscle in my body protests, not a flinch of hesitation or flicker of doubt.
Did Hunter die?
Where are Vera and Blair?
And why can’t I make finding the answers to those questions my number one priority?
After he discards the apron onto the floor, Murphy ducks his head and whispers, “Hi,” in my ear.
Shivers skate along my skin when he kisses my neck while unbuttoning my dress. After he slides it off my shoulders, I reach for the hem of his T-shirt. He grabs the back of it at the neck and pulls it over his head. Our mouths collide, tongues exploring familiar territory.
With deft fingers, he unhooks my bra and I discard it to the floor. Murphy gently clasps my wrists behind my back, making my back bow. My hard nipples brush the smattering of hair on his chest, causing the ache I feel at my core to intensify into something stronger than I imagined. And dear god … how I’ve imagined.
He drops his head, kissing and nipping my neck while tightening his hold on my hands so my chest pushes out just a little more.
“Ohhh …” I cry for a brief second before biting my lower lip to silence my reaction when he sucks my nipple into his mouth and tugs it with his teeth. He moves to the other side and does the same thing.