Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Hey, Ma. Everything okay?”
“Oh, everything’s fine, dearest,” my mother answers cheerfully. I hear the noise of her car in the background, that hollowness that comes with being on speaker in an enclosed space. Also, the distant sound of shouting, cheerful kids growing quieter by the moment. “I just wanted to let you know I dropped Nell off at school right on time. I know how you worry.”
I can’t help chuckling as I wrap an arm around Ophelia, settling comfortably against the pillows with our bodies fitting so perfectly together. “You know me too well. Did she behave herself?”
“Like a little angel. Mostly. She wouldn’t go to sleep until I read Where the Wild Things Are six times, but once she was out, she was out. Didn’t even have her usual two a.m. bathroom run to drink six gallons of water straight from the tap.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Be glad she’s past waking you up to make you get it for her. Glad she was good. I’ll get her after school this afternoon.”
“Are you sure? Darling, you’ve been so good with her, but you haven’t taken a day off for yourself in ages that isn’t police business. Even parents take a vacation, Grant. Your father and I can keep her for a few more days before we run off into the wilds for our romantic getaway.” She lets out an indulgent laugh. “Believe it or not, Nell thinks she shouldn’t go home for a week. Apparently, she’s very invested in you getting plenty of ‘kissy time’ with ‘the lady.’”
Shit.
“Ma, I—she does not need to be talking about that. Now, she’s really coming home tonight,” I growl.
Ophelia snickers at my side. “Nell started singing about us kissing in a tree again, didn’t she?”
“Probably,” I grouch from the corner of my mouth, then turn my attention back to my mother. “I appreciate it, Ma. I really do. Still, I think it’s better if Nell comes home. Whatever is or isn’t going on with me and Ophelia, I don’t want Nell feeling like she’s got to cut herself out to accommodate us. Don’t want her thinking she’s in the way. Whatever happens in my life, Nell’s a part of it.”
There’s a sweet, soft sigh at my side.
Ophelia’s hand rests on my arm.
I look down to find her watching me with such a gentle smile, her eyes warm with approval. My heart warms, too, beating just a little harder.
My mother clucks her tongue, but there’s a fondness to it. “You always do take your responsibilities so seriously, but I understand what you mean.”
“Thanks, Ma. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
We say our goodbyes and I drop my phone back on the nightstand, pressing my lips to Ophelia’s hair.
“If Nell’s already off to school, that means I’ll be late for work.”
“Aww. I want to be selfish and tease you into staying in bed a little longer, but I’ll be good. Don’t work too hard.” Ophelia rubs her cheek against my chest, then shoots me a playful look. “So, whatever’s going on with you and Ophelia, you said? What would ‘whatever’ be?”
“No goddamned clue,” I admit, tipping her face up to steal another kiss. “Don’t know what I’m getting myself into or what we’re doing. But I’d sure as hell like to find out.”
The way she lowers her lashes and blushes is all I need to get my blood racing and ready to make it through another day.
“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling me in for one more slow, lingering kiss. “I think I’d like that too.”
I’ve got enough energy to tow a Mack truck by the time I shower and leave with a scrambled egg and ham sandwich Ophelia threw together.
The whole thing hangs out of my mouth as I shrug into my jacket.
She just charges me up this much. I grin as I take the half-eaten sandwich out and swallow so I can kiss her at the door before ducking into my cruiser and heading off.
I wolf down the remaining sandwich while I drive, flipping back into cop mode even if I’m not technically on duty yet and my head’s overflowing with Ophelia damn Sanderson.
It’s a rotten habit—observing everything, scanning my surroundings as I make my way through town.
That’s how I spot them.
Aleksander Arrendell.
Rosalind Sanderson.
...and fucking Ephraim Jacobin.
They’re standing close to the street corner, thick as thieves next to the local cheese shop, tucked in an out of the way place between that building and the next.
My stomach churns, thinking back to that fucked up encounter at the bar. I couldn’t bring myself to mention that shit to Philia.
I also wish he’d given a reason—just one—to arrest his deranged ass on the spot. There are still a few public obscenity laws on the books, sure, but good luck dragging a man as rich as an Arrendell to court over it. His lawyers would rebuff anything short of public masturbation—and even then I think the scum would get a community service slap on the wrist.