Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
In the blink of an eye, my whole life changed.
I’m homeless, penniless, and adrift.
Until my father’s best friend, Rhys Flannery, offers me a place to stay.
He grounds me in ways I never expected.
Sets me on fire in ways I’ve only dreamed about.
But he’s keeping secrets that threaten to destroy us both.
How do I trust him with my heart when he’s the only one capable of shattering it?
Rhys Flannery
Three months ago, my best friend was murdered.
When his daughter shows up on my doorstep, I can’t turn her away.
She’s been my obsession since the day I met her.
But she doesn’t know the secrets I’m keeping.
Telling her what I know will destroy her entire world.
Keeping the truth from her may destroy us.
I refuse to let that happen.
I will protect her, even if I have to destroy myself to do it.
If you enjoy safe instalove reads featuring growly older men, strong BBW heroines, and sizzling romance, you’ll love Raven and Rhys! As always, Nichole Rose books come with a sticky-sweet and guaranteed HEA.
Prologue
RHYS
Three Years Ago
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Brantley Calloway says as I step out onto his back patio. He lifts a beer in mock salute, a shit-eating grin on his face. Dressed in gray chino shorts and a red polo, he’s the picture of modish relaxation. A rarity for him. He’s usually in five-thousand-dollar suits and expensive Italian leather shoes, lines of stress etched around his blue eyes. “I was beginning to think you stood us up.”
“Got held up at work,” I say, propping a shoulder up against the glass door as I scan the backyard. There are two dozen people scattered around the elegant pool, all dressed in equally elegant swimwear, all chatting and laughing. Aside from Brant’s wife, Marnie, and his business partner, Jack Hale, I don’t know any of them. I’m not surprised. Brant and I are from two different worlds.
My family is wealthy, but not like this. Brant is a whole different level of affluent. He lives in a sprawling eleven-thousand square-foot mansion on Lake Washington. The backyard is an oasis of indulgent luxury, with colorful gardens, an Olympic-sized pool carved from natural rock, tennis courts, a pool house, a guest house, and a killer view of the lake.
I paid a king’s ransom for a two-story Craftsman in West Seattle twelve years ago. It’s small, but it’s mine. It’s worth twice what I paid for it now, but I’m not giving it up easy. I’m a homicide detective. The pay is garbage. Luckily, I’ve made some good investments over the years, and working security for Brant on days off has been a nice little bonus. I’m not hurting for cash. I’m not in a hurry to spend it either. I prefer to live modestly and make my own way in life.
I’m guessing everyone else at this little barbeque throws money around like it’s nothing. Brant keeps expensive company. He doesn’t like any of them much, at least not that I can tell. They seem to be more Marnie’s friends than his. In the year I’ve worked for him, he’s always kept them at a polite distance. He welcomes them into his home, but he doesn’t trust them. He doesn’t seem to trust much of anyone but me and Jack.
The only people in the world with more trust issues than cops are billionaires. Maybe that’s why Brant and I get along so well. We’re both suspicious of everyone under the sun.
“Working another case?” he asks, flipping steaks on the grill.
“Always,” I grunt in response. We had a triple homicide two days ago. I’ve been working my ass off trying to run the suspect to ground. He finally turned himself in at midnight last night. Confessed everything. “Where’s the beer?”
Brant points the spatula toward the fridge behind him.
I push away from the door, headed in that direction. “You’re burning the meat,” I observe, peeking in at the charred steaks on my way past. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to grill a steak?”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to shit talk the man cooking your food and signing your checks?” he retorts, side-eyeing me. “Raven won’t eat it if it’s still mooing at her.”
“She’s here?” I ask with interest, reaching into the outdoor fridge for a beer. Since I met him, Brantley has talked nonstop about his daughter, but I’ve never set eyes on the kid. She lives in New York with her mom and has been busy with school. Brant usually flies back to New York once a month to spend time with her instead of dragging her across the country.
He’s a good man. Most men in his position couldn’t give two shits about family. It’s all about the bottom dollar. That isn’t Brant. His family comes first, even if it means business takes a backseat. Hell, he moved his entire company across the country for Marnie when he married her four years ago. He wanted her happy, and Seattle was her home.