Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Oh, stop. You’re already acting as though I’m going to screw this up. They’re going to have an amazing time. We’ll have a movie night, and I’ll buy us all matching pajamas, maybe get some permanent markers so I can give them tattoos just like mine. It’ll be great.”
“Holy shit. You’re going to corrupt my babies.”
“How do you think Emily would feel about black hair dye?”
“Fuck. I’m hanging up before I change my mind.”
“Love you, asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters just moments before the line goes dead.
I laugh to myself as I lock my phone and finally put my arm back down, hoping like hell I haven’t somehow managed to screw up the dress by taking that call. Though if I had, I’m sure Izzy would have more than let me know by now.
I glance down at her, and as I do, I can’t help the wide grin that stretches across my face, excitement already blooming inside me as I think about all the ridiculously insane activities I could do with the twins. “How would you feel about a movie night with my nieces?”
“Yeah?” she asks, her eyes going wide with excitement. She loves little kids, but she’s just never loved the idea of having any of her own. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely?”
“Do you think they’ll want to play fashion designer with me?” she asks. “I’ve always wanted to do a children’s line.”
I scoff. “Not if you’re going to stick them with pins like you’ve been doing to me for the past hour. I can put up with that shit, but I draw the line when it comes to my twinnies.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “No fashion designer, but we’re doing an ice cream bar. I want to see just how hyped up on sugar we can get them, but the moment they start bouncing off the wall, I’m leaving you to deal with the fallout.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
29
KNIGHT
Making my way up the hallway, I stop by the entrance of the kitchen, watching Harper mindlessly go about her morning, getting ready for her first day back at work. It’s almost comical at this point. Generally, people only ever have one first day back at work, yet here Harper is, pouring her coffee into a thermos, preparing for what must be her fourth or fifth first day back in the space of only a few months.
It’s becoming a fucking joke, but as I watch the joy cross Harper’s face, I can’t bring myself to comment on it.
She loves that fucking morgue, and while I’ll never be able to understand it, I’m here for anything that can put a smile on her face like that. Even with all the bullshit that has gone down within the walls of that morgue, being there gives her purpose, and I could never take that away from her.
The morgue’s been closed for well over a week now, and while all priority autopsies have been diverted to the next town over, everything else has been piling up, and I don’t doubt that Harper has her work cut out for her over the coming weeks in order to get back on top of everything.
With Dr. McKullan gone, everything will fall on Harper’s shoulders, though she hasn’t been board-certified yet, so I’m not quite sure who she’s going to answer to over the coming months, but I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when she gets home this evening. Despite that, nothing is going to stop her from getting in, putting her head down, and getting her work done. During the day shifts, she has a whole team to utilize, so I’m sure, given the tools she needs, Harper will have that morgue running like a well-oiled machine in no time.
I go to push off the wall to meet her in the kitchen when the alarm for her meds goes off, and as she makes her way around the island counter, I watch her, completely immersed in everything Harper-Rayn.
She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
I don’t know how I ever became so lucky. She’s wild and fierce, but docile when she wants to be, and despite knowing every damn thing about her, she never ceases to surprise me.
As she approaches her phone, her fingers swipe across the screen, dismissing the alarm before she stretches up onto her tippy-toes to reach the cabinet above the fridge, her scrub top riding up and showing off a sliver of skin at her hip and making my mouth water.
No amount of tasting her will ever satiate me. I will always want more, always crave her, always need everything that she is. I’m fucking addicted, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Harper-Rayn Madden has me by the fucking balls.
I watch her with a lazy smile as she finally reaches the little canister of pills, and as she wanders over to the sink, she sips on her coffee while swaying her hips to whatever song is playing on repeat inside her head. All I know is that I certainly don’t hear whatever the fuck she does.