Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I sigh and take a long, fortifying sip of whiskey, letting the smooth sting of the alcohol work its way down to my toes. The alcohol loosens my muscles, which has the unfortunate effect of making all my feelings rush to the surface.
“I’m angry and hurt, Lucky. I’m so fucking confused. I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything I know is a lie.”
He drops his fork, and it clangs against the plate.
“That’s bullshit, Aria. What you know about your father and your mother is a lie. To be fair, that’s true of most children. You are not a fucking lie. I’m sitting right here looking at you, and I see the bitchy edges, the soft center, and the vulnerability you mask with grade-A sarcasm. All of that? It’s fucking real.”
His words shock me, but the intensity of them touches me. No one has ever seen me, not truly. But for some reason, Lucky does.
“You know,” he continues as if he hasn’t just knocked me on my tight ass. “We might be able to find a way for you to talk to your father.”
My heart leaps at the vague promise, but next comes an immediate surge of anger.
“I don’t know if I want to talk to him. What would I say? What could he possibly say to make any of this better?”
“Nothing is going to make it better, Aria. But you might make some sense of it if you had some answers.”
Talking about Daddy depresses me. It makes me angry, and I don’t feel like being angry. I want to be happy, and the whisky is doing a good job along with the pasta dish and my present company.
Instead of wallowing, I push aside all thoughts of the man who’s lied to me since the day I was born and turn a sultry smile in Lucky’s direction.
“No one’s ever cooked for me before, well, no one who wasn’t paid to do it.”
“You’ve had a rough time of it lately, Princess, and you needed a night to be in your feelings. No pressure to look pretty or say the right things. And carbs. Loads of carbs.”
I suck in a breath and heave out a big sigh. If that isn’t the truth. “I appreciate it.” More than I can possibly say without freaking him out.
Lucky shrugs like it’s no big deal when to me, it’s a very big deal. “You don’t care what I think of you, so I’m probably the best person to be here with you.”
“I do care,” I insist. “Now, I do,” I add at his look of skepticism. “I might care more than I let on.”
He’s right about me, though. I wield bitchiness and sarcasm like weapons to keep myself safe, and I’ve done that with him since he entered my life.
Something flickers in his gaze that I can’t quite figure out. And then, it’s gone. Lucky sits back as a slow smile crosses his face. “I think so too, Princess.”
I stand slowly and finish off my whiskey. I can feel Lucky’s gaze on me as if it’s a physical touch, and the pull grows stronger until I find myself straddling his lap and kissing him like there’s no tomorrow.
Hell, for all I know, there may not be a tomorrow.
Lucky wraps his arm around me, and his other hand tangles in my hair. We deepen the kiss until I’m vibrating, so desperate for him that I’m shaking with need. He purrs against my mouth and stands, forcing me to wrap my legs around him, which is no hardship because he’s hot and hard. Everywhere.
I scoop the whiskey bottle off the table and press my lips to his neck, behind his ear, wherever I can find skin. I nibble his earlobe while he moves us upstairs. The muscles in his neck and shoulder are delicious.
“You taste good.”
“You would know,” he growls in response.
I laugh, and it turns into a squeal when he tosses me on the bed, sending a splash of whiskey down my arm.
“Look what you did!”
With a smile, Lucky bends over and presses his tongue against my arm, sliding it from the crook all the way down to my wrist. “Better?”
I nod slowly, my breath caught in my chest at the sensual move that has my pussy damp and my clit vibrating. “Getting there.”
“Take off your clothes,” he barks at me. “Slowly.”
Instead of balking and smarting off like I usually do, I scoot to the edge of the bed and twirl to face him. One hand goes to the strap of my tank top. I lower it slowly and then the other before I grab the hem and pull it over my head. I toss it at him, and when he catches it and sniffs it, my belly clenches.
“Keep going.”
I smile, licking my lips sensuously, hooking my thumbs through my waistband, and sliding my shorts down my legs. Thanks to a healthy regimen of three types of yoga, I’m super flexible, so I stretch forward and bend my body in half.