Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Tilly,” I say her name with fondness.
I first met Tilly Wolf at an outdoor market in Queens. I was there with Matthew and Faith. Tilly was pushing a stroller with one hand while carrying a leash in the other. I met her, her son, Jacob, and her dog, Lunar, that day. I’ve known her husband for much longer, years and years in fact, since his sister Nikita is my best friend.
“Matilda,” he calls her by the same name my brother sometimes does.
I find it charming. When Matthew introduced me to Tilly he called her Matilda. She turned to me and said, “Please call me Tilly,” so I did and I have ever since.
“Yes.” I nod.
I pick up the book and open the front cover. “Yours isn’t signed.”
His eyes widen. “You say that as though you’re surprised.”
I slam the cover shut. “I have a signed copy.”
“I’m jealous.”
“My best friend is Nicholas’s sister,” I confess. “Nikita always brings me a signed copy of each of his books.”
“Lucky you.”
“You know Tilly will get Nicholas to sign a copy for you, right?” I tilt my chin down and smile. “I could ask her for you although you do see her every single day.”
He contemplates that with a slow nod of his chin. “I sure do.”
“Our lives are connected,” I whisper, pointing out the obvious. “When we get home…”
“We’ll figure it all out,” he interrupts, finishing my sentence in the way he sees fit. “Enjoy our time here, Delia. I sure as hell am.”
I tug on the bottom hem of his shirt. “Me too.”
“Read me a chapter,” he suggests. “I know Nicholas reads his own audio books and I’ve listened to a few, but I’d much rather hear my favorite author being read by you.”
“I’d love to do that. Where should I start?”
“Page thirty-seven,” he says. “That’s where I remember leaving off.”
I study the pristine hardback copy of Phantom’s Escape. I finished this novel three days after Nikita handed it to me over a year ago. “You don’t use a bookmark?”
“Never.” He shakes his head. “I always stop reading in a spot that leaves me wanting more.”
I carefully open the book to the page he mentioned, noting that it’s the beginning of a chapter.
“It was muggier than most mornings that day,” I read slowly, relishing in every word even though I finished this book last week. “I could feel a presence in the air that was unfamiliar. It left me uneasy, but not uncomfortable.”
I keep reading even though I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I sigh between words when Donovan settles next to me on the small couch and as his hand grazes my thigh, my breathing quickens.
“One chapter and then I want something else,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as I finish a paragraph.
I finally glance at him and into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“You.”
The word and the depth of pure desire in his voice says everything I need and want to hear.
“I’ll read faster.”
He laughs. “Take your time, my Delia. We have all day.”
“We have until the ship docks back in Miami,” I say as my gaze drifts back to the page in front of me.
“That we do.” He exhales slowly. “That we do.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Donovan
I didn’t want to let her go but she insisted she’d be back in a flash, and she stuck to that promise.
Delia wanted to grab a few things from her cabin. I offered to go with her, but she told me she’d be fine.
I watched her slip back into her bikini before she left. She tugged the white cover up over her head even though it was wrinkled after spending the night on the floor where she tossed it after she arrived to my room.
I spot her the moment she rounds the corner headed back in my direction.
The white bikini is still in place. I can see it through the thin material of the cover up. The only thing that has changed is her hair. I don’t think she showered because it’s as dry as it was when she left me less than thirty minutes ago. She did pull into a high ponytail. It accentuates the long lines of her neck and the curve of her shoulders.
A smile slides over her lips. “I took care of what I needed to.”
“Good,” I acknowledge without prying.
Maybe she wanted privacy to make a call, or she needed to shove a few things into the tote that’s now slung over her shoulder. Either way, I’m glad she’s returned.
When she’s almost in front of me, she taps the side of the tote. “I was late taking my birth control pill. I brought them with me so I won’t make that mistake again.”
“It’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I’ve used a condom every time.”
She brushes past me to enter my stateroom. “How many times was that?”