Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Zeke’s coming?” he asks.
“He is,” I say, my smile widening. “Isn’t he sweet to take time out of his busy day for us?”
Something twitches in Jericho’s temple. “Fine,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You’ll come?” Angelique asks excitedly jumping up and down.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Leontine says, looking surprised and satisfied. “That’s settled then. Do you think I need to change the reservation, Isabelle?” Leontine asks me.
“No, it’ll be fine to add one more chair. And if not, Jericho can always sit on his own.” That last part is directed at him.
“Belle knows the owner,” Angelique says. “She’s friends with her. She’s a pastry chef. She’s baking us something special.”
“I bet.”
“Maybe I’ll even ask her to put something extra special in yours,” I tell Jericho.
He shifts his gaze to me. It turns to a glare.
“Come, Angelique,” Leontine says. I wonder if she senses the tension building.
“Belle aren’t you going to have lunch?” Angelique asks.
“Of course.” I take a step toward them, but Jericho catches my arm.
“We’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Angelique looks at us but Leontine ushers her out of the room.
As soon as they’re gone, I tug free of Jericho’s grip and walk out into the hallway. I get as far as my bedroom but just as I put my hand on the doorknob, Jericho closes his hand over mine.
“You were craving cake?” he asks, words clipped.
His proximity makes something flutter in my stomach. Makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I shift my gaze from our joined hands to his eyes without turning my head.
“A day ago, you couldn’t keep food down, wife of mine.”
“I guess the vitamins really worked.” I have been feeling better but honestly all I’ve eaten has been more of that soup. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach cake, but I was dying to get out of the house, and this was the way to do it. Knowing I’m pregnant has made me braver. Given me a backbone.
“Hm.”
He opens the door and gestures for me to enter. When I pass him, I notice a familiar scent on him. I can’t quite place it but it doesn’t belong on him. Doesn’t belong here in this house.
“Where were you?” I ask when he closes the door.
“Did you miss me?”
“I was just wondering because the nausea going away coincided so nicely with your absence, I just wondered if it would be best if you stayed away for the next nine months. Or forever. Either works for me. Or better yet, let me go home.”
Home. That’s when I realize what the smell is.
I lean toward him and sniff his collar.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I step back. “That’s Julia’s perfume.” It’s faint and maybe it’s the pregnancy that has amped up my sense of smell but, I’m sure. And something about it gets my hackles up.
He seems surprised by my comment and it takes him a minute to reply. “I ran into her when I returned your phone.” He walks around me to the door that connects our rooms, moves into his.
I follow him. “What do you mean you ran into her?”
He strips off his jacket and undoes his tie, tossing it aside. He unbuttons the top buttons and cuffs of his shirt before pulling it out of his pants and over his head. He tosses that onto the bed too, slips off his shoes and walks toward the bathroom.
“I mean, I went to return your phone and tell your brother there would be no more contact between you and them. But he wasn’t home. She was.” He switches on the shower and undoes his belt, turning to me. “You’re not jealous, are you? Is there lipstick on my collar?”
“Why would there be lipstick on your collar?” I sound defensive and angry. Or maybe that’s jealousy. I realize my arms are folded across my chest so I drop them.
He grins, satisfied.
I shake my head. “You dick. I’m not jealous. I just don’t understand why her perfume would be clinging to you.”
He raises his eyebrows and steps toward me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “She’s not my type. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not… Jesus! What is wrong with you?” I shove at his chest, but he tightens his grip.
“Besides, you’re my type. And you’re my wife. Not to mention you are carrying my child. You’re the only woman I’m interested in fucking.”
I shove again. “You’re welcome to go fuck every woman at the Cat House if that’s what you want. Just as long as you leave me alone!”
“I don’t think you mean that.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Shall I prove it?”
“Fuck off!”
He grins and, keeping his arm around my waist, reaches into the shower to switch off the water. He lifts me, carrying me into the bedroom where he deposits me on the edge of the bed. With a nudge of two fingers on my chest he has me on my back. He pushes my dress up and slips my panties off.