Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Lovely and interesting …” He wets his lower lip. “That’s exactly how I’d describe you.”
“Thank you,” I say with a surprising amount of sincerity.
At first, I feigned interest in Archer Sanford and his blatant cheating. Now, I can say I’m genuinely intrigued. Sin is very intriguing. Too intriguing. Was Steven this intrigued with Molly? I can’t imagine.
The waiter returns with coffee.
“Out!” Archer snaps.
I jump more than the waiter.
“I … uh … should go.” Standing on shaky legs, I adjust my strapless dress.
Archer pushes his chair back. “Come here,” he whispers as if he hadn’t just lost his patience with a stranger.
Whatever my heart rate was when he touched me earlier, it’s ten times that now as he unzips his pants.
“On your knees.”
I think those three words will haunt me forever. Not because they’re anything new. Not because no man has said that to me before now. No. They’ll haunt me because I’m not Francesca. I’m Iris. And I deliberately put myself in this situation because I can’t let Molly Sanford get away with murder. There’s no room for ethics and morality when revenge is the only goal.
Sucking Archer’s dick isn’t the problem. It might even be part of the solution, just not tonight. Perhaps he’s in this room with me because Corinne won’t give him head. Or maybe she’s willing to give him everything. Is that why some of the wealthiest people in the world are also the most dissatisfied with their lives? When you have everything, what’s the point?
My parents fought about money and a messy house. They even fought about sex when they didn’t know I was listening: Not enough time for sex. Too tired for sex because raising twins and running a farm was exhausting.
They didn’t have everything; they had each other. Perhaps people who don’t have everything know how important it is to hold on to what they do have. My parents had me and my brother. And they had each other. They still have each other. Even after losing a son, his wife, and a grandchild, my parents are stronger than ever.
“Archer, maybe the reason I’ve never been married is because I refuse to get on my knees for anyone.”
He purses his lips, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I will have you, Iris.”
“That’s the spirit.” I saunter toward him, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Never give up. Good night.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACKSON
Jackson watches Frankie leave the restaurant. Once again, she’s wearing that strapless red dress. And once again, she’s spending time with Archer Sanford. After she climbs into her Lexus and heads toward home, Jackson stays until Archer exits the restaurant with his bodyguards.
He can’t figure out why Frankie would give Archer the time of day, let alone lunch and dinner, in less than a week.
After exercising, a shower, and playing his piano, there’s a predictable knock at his door.
“Leftover pie?” Frankie holds up the pie from the other night.
Jackson steps aside.
She’s no longer in a red dress. For Jackson, she wears tiny shorts, flip-flops, and her usual tight top that shows her nipples.
“How was your day? Did you get a lot of work done?” She glances around the garage before plopping on the sofa facing his punching bag and weights.
“I always get a lot of work done.” He grabs a titanium utensil with a spoon on one side and a fork on the other.
Frankie inspects it before eyeing him. “I’ll take the spoon side.”
He sits next to her and steals the pie plate. “If you didn’t eat your share before you got here, that’s too damn bad. We’re not sharing anything.”
She faces him, crisscrossing her legs on the cushion. “You seem a little agitated. Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” He shovels pie into his mouth. Of course, he’s agitated. She’s fucking around with his target, but he can’t say a word to her about it. “How was your day?” he asks. “Surely you can’t have much more to do around here.”
“What are you talking about? I can’t leave until you finish your piano piece. It’s in my head, and I must know how it will end. Half a song is an unfinished story.”
“Then you’ll be here forever, which is a hell of a lot longer than I’ll be here.”
“Why do you say that?” she asks.
“Because I won’t ever finish it.”
Frankie steals the pie plate and his utensil, using the same end to take a bite of the pie and then another and another. “Why?” she mumbles.
He eyes her, again feeling the eerie familiarity of the women who have dominated his life, sometimes against his will. “Because the inspiration died.”
Frankie taps the fork end of the utensil on her lips. “Then resurrect it.”
“Her,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper.
“Did you say her?”
“Thanks for the pie.” Jackson stands, staring at the ceiling and stretching his back with his hands on his hips. He’s not here to talk about his life or eat pie with a woman.