Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“It’s not … I don’t know, too much?” I bit my lip.
The dress itself wasn’t overly complicated. It was a buttery cashmere that was so soft I was afraid of how I’d ever clean it. The soft pink was the perfect shade for my coloring. The neckline exposed my shoulders, and my collarbones.
It finished almost at my ankles, just brushing the leather of my boots. How Calliope could’ve known it was the perfect length for that combination was anyone’s guess.
She’d texted to say:
Hair up, pink lipstick, gold earrings.
That was it. I’d obeyed her commands because anyone with a survival instinct would obey Calliope Derrick.
And she was right, with my hair up in a high pony, dark pink lipstick, and my cheap gold earrings, I looked great.
Still like me, but the version of me I might be if I could routinely afford cashmere dresses and designer boots.
“Too much?” Beau repeated, still sitting in his chair, gaping. His silence had me uneasy, I couldn’t trust what was going on in his head since my brother’s visit.
“No. What’s going to be too much is me being arrested at a fancy restaurant because I can’t handle men’s eyes on you,” he muttered gruffly.
I rolled my eyes even as my bottom lip quivered at his words. He was still attracted to me. That much was clear. “You’d never.”
He raised his brow in challenge. “Try me.”
I shook my head with a smile. “We’re going to be late if you keep looking at me like that.” I wasn’t overly worried about being late as excited as I was about a real-life date with Beau.
Sure, I was excited about being two adults, eating good food, drinking a glass of wine. But I doubted the food would be better than what Beau cooked for me here, and I could take or leave wine.
My mind wandered toward the fantasy I’d entertained when I’d been standing in here talking about Halloween costumes. Now I didn’t have to have fantasies when it came to Beau. He was my reality. We were a reality. Especially with the hungry look that was currently setting my panties on fire.
I stepped forward, intending on telling him to forget dinner, instead to utter my desires, make them come to life.
But Beau stood in his chair, clearing his throat, tearing through the thick sexual tension of the moment. He was already dressed in a black collared shirt, black pants. His beard was shiny with oil, his hair mussed but tamed.
He looked good. Very good.
He crossed the distance between us, leaning to kiss me on the nape of my neck, his beard scratching my bare skin, making my body tremble with need.
“My favorite part of your body.” His lips brushed my exposed collarbones, hands resting on my hips.
I leaned back to raise my brow at him. “Your favorite?” I questioned.
He looked down pointedly, with hunger in his gaze. “Aside from the obvious.”
Toes curling in my fabulous boots, I waited for him to make good on that hunger, to peel down my dress, expose my nipples, suckle them.
But Beau lingered for a second more before he stepped back, eyes scanning my body before they focused on my face.
“We’ll be late,” he murmured.
Disappointed, but refusing to show it, I smiled. “We can’t be late for our very first date.”
He didn’t smile back, the corner of his lip turned upward. It was a positive expression. That’s what I told myself.
And Beau wanting to take me on a date was a good thing too.
So why was there a cold pit of dread sitting in my stomach as Beau put his hand on my back, walking us out?
Everything about the date was perfect.
On paper, at least.
I was wearing an outfit that likely cost more than my car. I felt beautiful, for the first time in my life, I truly felt beautiful. I was walking into a restaurant with a man I loved, a man who loved me.
The man in question opened my car door for me, pulled out my chair, who treated me better than any man ever had—not saying much to be fair.
But there was an undertone to Beau’s behavior. I couldn’t put my finger on it. His forced half smiles, the faraway look in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. Something was off.
Halfway through dinner—the one that was great but not as good as Beau’s—I was sick of guessing what it could be, driving myself crazy with worry. We were together, I was allowed to ask him what was wrong.
“Beau—”
“Hannah?”
I swiveled in the direction of my voice, the person that spoke it.
“Oh my god, it is you!”
Three women rushed toward the table. Three familiar women.
I stood on wooden legs. “Helen, Jenny, Rachel.” I greeted the gaggle of women with hugs that surprised me.
I would’ve said that I was friendly with the three women, but not friends. Not that they weren’t perfectly nice—they were. They made an effort to include me, invite me out. I went once or twice, but nor my budget or my schedule allowed.