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)
If I don’t think about Molly or Corinne, Archer is nothing more than a handsome man with a big dick. I bet he fucks like a stallion. I bet he’ll make me come. So why am I on the verge of tears? I’m angry with myself for being this weak, for my shaking hands and constant need to over-analyze the situation.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The penetrating sound of a nearby car alarm reverberates around us.
“Fuck!” Archer shoots an angry scowl toward his bodyguards like it’s their fault. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his pants.
I sit up, running my fingers through my hair while attempting to slow my breathing. Relief washes over me. Saved by the bell.
No goodbye.
Barely a parting glance.
Archer hightails it back toward the ball fields.
It takes a few minutes for me to quit shaking. The car alarm shuts off, and I slide into the driver’s seat and get the hell out of here.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JACKSON
Jackson’s never been a baseball fan, and today is no exception. Francesca’s messing with his head, forcing him to make rash decisions like setting off a car alarm to keep Archer Sanford from fucking her in the high school parking lot.
What the hell is wrong with her?
He knows all too well how grief can mess with one’s judgment. He watched his sister dive headfirst into a messed-up relationship, disregarding the risk or the consequences. His wife (before she was his wife) let her ex-husband beat the living shit out of her because they had a daughter together, and she had no way to completely escape … until Jackson came into her life.
“Beer?” Eloise holds up a bottle after Jack climbs the deck stairs. She grins. “I know you don’t drink wine.”
It’s not his favorite green-bottled beer, but a solid step up from wine. He stopped drinking after his wife died, but given his current state of affairs, a beer might be just what he needs. “Thanks.” He takes the beer and sits in the swivel chair next to her. Jackson’s job is a lonely one by design. But he’s too old to die alone, and being so far away from his family feels like a slow death. And … he wants to see Eloise’s new roommate.
“Did you have a wonderfully mysterious day?”
Jackson chuckles before taking a swig of his beer. It’s familiar, almost forbidden. Eloise’s respect for his privacy is most appreciated. “Mysterious? Yes. Wonderful? Not so much. How was your day?”
She traces the rim of her glass. “Let’s see … I cut back my tulips, opened a new bag of coffee, repaired the button on my favorite pants, and beat myself at Scrabble.”
“Ahh … living the dream.” He grins, toasting her with his beer bottle.
She taps it with her glass and laughs. A few seconds later, her smile dies. “I’m worried about Francesca.”
Jackson focuses on his beer bottle. “Oh?”
“I really wish she’d go home. It’s not that I mind her staying with me. It’s quite lovely, actually. It’s been many years since I’ve had someone live with me. And my son doesn’t visit often enough. But I think she must walk away from this tragedy—Lynn, Steven, the memories of her brother’s suicide, and now the house. I worry that her grief over their deaths will cause her to do something rash. She’s just so … angry.”
He nods several times.
“Maybe you could convince her.”
Jackson grunts. “No. She won’t listen to me. Sadly, she’ll have to learn the hard way.”
“It’s the letter. I never should have shown her the letter.”
Jackson shifts his attention to Eloise. “Letter?”
She frowns and glances behind us into the house. “A letter from Steven’s girlfriend,” she says calmly. “I stumbled upon it after the funeral. Molly, his girlfriend, all but told him to kill himself. It was just awful. She played on his emotions from his football injury. And she alluded to the fact that she cheated on him. There’s no way to know if it’s the reason he did it, but I showed it to Frankie.” She shakes her head. “And I shouldn’t have. Now, she thinks Molly is responsible for burning down the house, and she might be right. I suppose Molly would want to destroy the letter, but it’s been months. Why wait to do it now?”
Jackson processes this new information and responds with a low, contemplative hum. All the pieces begin to fall into place.
What the hell is she up to? Revenge?
“I’m sure you don’t know much about the Sanfords if you’re not from around here. They live halfway between here and Rhodale. And they are wealthy and powerful. Nothing sticks to them. Nothing. I’ve tried explaining this to Francesca, but she won’t listen. Maybe living close to Chicago, things are different. Perhaps there’s more accountability. But not in Boone and Rhodale. The Sanfords and their wealthy friends are the beginning and the end. They control everything, including the law.”