Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“I’ll take you by your place later on,” I tell her. “We’ll get what you need but until we can deal with Cole, I would feel better if you let me keep an eye on you.”
Finally, the corners of her mouth curl upward. “Thank you, Burke.”
“You’re welcome,” I respond. “Now, go take a shower or get some more rest. I’ll work on our problem while you do.”
She gives me a nod and shuffles out of the kitchen, and as she goes, my eyes trace the curves of her body, the heat within me growing, my cock stiffer than iron. I tear my eyes away and shake my head, reminding myself that I can’t have her.
But Jesus fucking Christ, do I want her.
6
CHAPTER 6
BRYNN
Iwoke up to find a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a hoodie that both fit me well sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, along with toiletries and other essentials. Burke had obviously done a little shopping while I was asleep. After a long and luxurious shower, I’m starting to feel normal again. But still feeling like I’ve got a bit of a hangover.
After drying off, I get dressed. I stand in front of a full-length mirror and pull my hair back, tying it into a loose ponytail and stare at myself. I gingerly touch my swollen cheek, frowning at the bruise. It still hurts a bit from where that asshole slapped me. As I think about what might have happened had Burke not been there, a shudder runs through me.
Why was he there? Was he looking into Cole? Or me? I mean, if he already knows that Cole is involved in trafficking, he was probably investigating him and following him? And I just happened to be there. Wrong place, wrong time. Right?
I’ve never been very confrontational, but this whole situation is freaking me out, and I need to know what he knows. And what exactly is going on?
Dressed and feeling better, I step out of the room and am immediately inundated by the aroma of something delicious. My stomach rumbles, reminding me it’s been a little while since I’ve eaten, so I follow my nose down the hallway. I step into the kitchen and see Burke buzzing around in a flurry of activity.
Classical music plays from a soundbar, making me want to stick my fingers into my ears.
“Hey, you’re up,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. But I have to admit, you don’t strike me as a classical music kind of guy.”
“No?”
I take in his hulking frame in a way I never have before. It’s kind of hard to really look at somebody when you’re dealing with a crowd of customers and they’re across the shop from you. I never really noticed before that Burke is a ruggedly handsome man. He’s big and brawny, that much I knew. But the way his black t-shirt hugs the hard angles and planes of his body makes my stomach turn a somersault.
“And what kind of music did you expect me to listen to?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Country, maybe,” she says.
“Can’t stand country.”
“Metal, then,” she says. “Or maybe classic rock?
“I’m okay with some metal. And some classic rock.”
“You definitely don’t fit into any one box.”
“No. I don’t.”
He laughs and shakes his head. I watch as the muscles in his arms ripple and flex as he stirs whatever he’s got cooking in the pot in front of him. His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and he’s got a thick but neatly trimmed beard. His golden-hazel eyes hold mystery in them, and when he turns them on me, my heart joins my stomach in doing some internal acrobatics.
It’s embarrassing for me to admit, but just watching him and holding his gaze warms me from the inside, and I feel myself growing wet.
I try to think of something boring in an attempt to extinguish my hot and rapidly moistening panties. I climb into the seat across from him, keeping the marble-topped center island between us. Given how unexpectedly warm and wet I’m growing, it’s probably the wisest thing I should do.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Seafood fettuccine,” he says.
“Wow. From scratch?”
“I didn’t make the pasta, but everything else, yeah.”
“A man who can cook. I’m impressed.”
He shrugs. “I enjoy the process.”
“This is a really nice house. Like, really nice. And right on the beach?” I say. “I didn’t realize PIs made enough to afford a nice place like this.”
He chuckles. “Being a PI is my second act.”
I cock my head, intrigued. “What was your first act?”
“I managed a hedge fund.”
I sit back, blown away by the revelation. Of all the things I would have guessed, a hedge fund manager wouldn’t have cracked the top one hundred. To afford a house like this, he must have made a pile of money. But I never would have guessed that. He doesn’t flaunt his wealth, doesn’t wear fancy clothes, or ostentatious watches and jewelry.