Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"That's better," he says. "I don't like seeing that look on your face."
"What look?"
"The one that says you aren't sure you belong here."
"Your place is a lot different than mine," I murmur.
"How so?"
"Seriously?" I arch a brow, but he just looks at me. "You live in the Heights, Cam. And your couch probably costs more than all of my furniture combined."
"Does that bother you?"
He sounds genuinely curious, like my answer matters to him, so I take a moment to think about the question. Does it bother me that he's a lot better off financially than I am?
"No," I answer. "I just…I don't know." I shrug, not sure how to explain or if I even should. I'm not even sure there is anything to explain. He dresses in jeans and t-shirts most of the time, his tattoos on full display. He drinks beer and eats Chinese takeout from the carton. Even when I saw him rocking his suit and tie, I didn't put much thought into where he lived or what kind of life he led. I think I just assumed he lived the same lifestyle I do, or one close to it. Being inside his home is different. Yet again, he's not what I expected. He keeps surprising me. He doesn't fit neatly into some box. I don't think they make a box that could contain him, anyway. That's not a bad thing, but it is a little disconcerting.
"I'm not loaded," he says softly when I don't explain. "I live here because people like having cops around, so they give us cheap rent in exchange for making sure everyone feels safe and secure."
"Oh."
"But I'm not destitute either," he continues, massaging the back of my neck. "I make a decent living doing what I do, and I've made good investments. I'm more than capable of taking care of you."
"Cam, I―"
"Starting with hiring you a good lawyer."
"What?" I blink, caught off guard.
"You need a good lawyer. One who can get you out of jail and keep you out until we have enough evidence to have the charges against you dropped. Let me help you."
"No." I pull away, shaking my head. "No way."
"Why not?"
"Because…because I'm not letting you pay for a lawyer for me. I love that you want to do that for me, but that's not your responsibility, Cam. You're already doing more than enough."
"You're mine. It is my responsibility."
"No." I square my shoulders, my jaw firming.
He scowls at me.
I'm not backing down and giving in to him this time, though. He can't just sweep in and take over every aspect of my life. That's not fair to either of us.
"I don't want to feel like I'm using you," I whisper, my gaze running across his face. "You've already done more than enough to help me. I can't let you pay for a lawyer for me too."
"Kitten―"
"No, Cam." I step forward and wrap my arms around him, burrowing into his chest. "I need to do this my way. Please."
He holds himself rigid for a long moment, reluctance rolling off him in waves. And then he sighs and wraps his arms around me. "Fine," he mumbles into my hair. "But I don't like it."
"I know."
"If your public defender is an idiot, I'm hiring you a lawyer whether you like it or not."
I want to tell him no again, but I don't. Instead, I take a deep breath and compromise. "Okay."
"Good," he grunts, the sound full of satisfaction.
We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. The thought that I may not get to be with him like this again anytime soon kills me. I just found him and I'm already on the verge of losing him.
He sighs after a moment. "Why don't you get a shower? I need to make a couple more calls."
"Okay," I whisper, fighting the urge to cry.
He kisses my forehead again and then grabs my duffle and holds it out for me. "My room is on the right. Make yourself at home."
"Okay." I take my bag and turn toward the hallway.
He grasps the back of my shirt, pulling me back into his arms before I can take a step in the direction of his bedroom. His mouth comes down on mine as he flicks his tongue against my bottom lip in a silent demand for me to open for him.
I do, willingly. He kisses me like it's the first time, his lips gentle against mine. Heat spreads through me, but it doesn't take away the chill that's worked its way into my bones. I don't think anything is going to take that away, not until Fake Ivy is in prison and my nightmare is over.
His phone rings, pulling a disgruntled grumble from his lips. "Go shower. I'll be there soon," he mumbles against my lips, and then he reluctantly releases me, already reaching for his cell.