Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Chemistry was an effortless thing between them. Last night at the club left no doubt in her mind about that. But this was more than sex.
He’d washed her panties.
Kissed her tears.
Held her as she’d cried.
Offered to be her person for one night.
And he loved her sister.
Her gaze faltered, bouncing around the room until it collided with his once again.
You have questions about Camila and me. Ask them.
“Does Matias know?” She swallowed down the last of the tea and slid off the counter.
“Know what?” He caught her arm, steadying her.
“That you love her?”
“Yes.”
And Tate was still alive? Maybe Matias wasn’t threatened by him, though that seemed impossible. Tate would have a shameless effect on any woman he set his sights on, including her lovesick sister.
Lucia was thoroughly intimidated in the shadow of his powerful body and plundering gaze, but she also felt protected. And lucky. Without him here, she would’ve spent tonight like every other night—starving, homesick, heartsick, sick sick, and so terribly alone.
His hair was a sexy mess of short blond spikes. Black roses tattooed one muscled arm, the rest of his upper body a landscape of unmarked skin and ripples of definition. Though he wore a deep scowl and seemed to enjoy staring her down in a condescending way, he was also tender and possessive.
He was a man to love. If Camila hadn’t already belonged to Matias, she would’ve given her heart to Tate without hesitation.
“Was it hard to…?” Did she want to ask this? She sat on the mattress on the floor and pulled the shirt down to cover her thighs. “Was it hard to have sex with Camila then let her go?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You mean…?” Her heart thundered. “You haven’t…?”
“I’ve never so much as kissed her.” With a sigh, he sat beside her and stretched his legs along the floor in front of them. “When I met your sister, I’d just spent ten weeks with Van. I wanted her instantly, but I was…” He wiped a hand down his mouth, his fingers lingering on his barely-there beard, his expression pensive. “I needed time to come to terms with what happened in that attic. We both did. I lived like a monk for the next two years, waiting for her and… Maybe I was waiting for myself. To feel worthy of her. To feel like a man again.” He dropped his hand on his lap. “When I was finished waiting, the very night I decided to go after her, Matias showed up.” He laughed a sharp sound that wasn’t a laugh at all. “I knew then that I didn’t have a chance in hell with her.”
He must’ve had superhuman staying power. To wait for Camila like that only to lose her in the end? Lucia commended his patience.
“You haven’t tried to move on?” she asked. “With another woman?”
“For the last four years, I’ve fucked everything that moved.”
An ice-cold jolt knifed straight through her chest. Is that what she was to him? Something that moved? “How’s that working for you?”
“It’s…” He stared at his dusty brown boots, his brows knitting. Then he huffed another non-laugh. “It’s been utterly joyless.” He turned toward her, head cocked and eyes squinting. “You asked if it was hard to have sex then let her go. Are you worried about that? With us?”
Us.
She looked away, an involuntary reflex she immediately regretted and forced her gaze back to his. “Am I worried because we had sex? Because I might not want to let go of something you found utterly joyless?”
“We didn’t just have sex. We had great fucking sex.” His perfect lips formed the words with natural seduction, making her shiver all over. “You enjoyed it as much as I did.”
Her nipples hardened beneath the shirt. He zeroed in on her chest, and something flickered in his eyes.
“If I could make you happy…” He unlaced his boots and pulled them off. Then his socks. “Even if it’s just a fleeting happiness…” His hands went to his jeans, unzipping and shucking them off. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“A pity fuck won’t make me—”
She was pinned beneath him on the mattress before her next breath. He was so heavy and solidly built his weight was alarming.
“Does this feel like pity?” He grabbed her hand and shoved it between them, molding her fingers around his cock.
Trapped in his tight briefs, his swollen length angled toward his hip, so damn thick and long the cotton barely contained it. It definitely didn’t feel like pity. He felt ruthless.
“Don’t ever mistake my desire for you as a mercy.” He ground himself against her hand. “I don’t care if you’re sick, sweetheart. I intend to exhaust my need for you until you forget where you are and how many breaths you have left. How’s that for a nice guy?”
It was arousing, electrifying, stimulating and lubricating the deepest, hungriest part of her.