Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Warning bells sound in the back of my mind.
"There's no fucking way they've found this place already," I mutter to myself. The condo isn't even in my name or any alias I've ever used. I buried the purchase under a mountain of paperwork when I bought the place. I come here when I need to get away. It's quiet, peaceful, and close enough to Berkeley that I could spend time with Tahani before she graduated without worrying about who might find out about her. Finding me here would take a fucking miracle.
The reminder doesn't relax the tension coiling my muscles into tight knots.
I kill the headlights, back out to the road, and roll three houses down before reaching into my glove compartment to grab my Glock. After chambering a bullet, I shove my phone into my pocket in case I need it. Once I kill the engine and step out of the truck, I keep to the shadows, circling around to the back of my property with my gun held firmly in my grasp.
I strain to hear anything over the crashing waves as I move through the shadows, but the house is silent.
That fact doesn't help relax me any.
Moving quickly, I slip through the side gate. The hinges squeal, but the sound is so faint that the wind quickly swallows it. I stay in the shadows for a long moment, watching for any movement through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The house appears to be as vacant as I left it after Tahani's graduation.
I make my way to the back deck and then stop before my boots hit the first step. The back door is standing open, and the lamp beside the couch is on, casting the room into muted shadow.
And then I see her.
Mila Lawson.
Tahani's best friend and the entire reason I have a rule about not fucking my daughter's friends.
Blondes with green eyes are a dime a dozen in California, but blondes like Mila? Not even close. She has no clue how fucking gorgeous she is. She's curvy, soft in all the right places, and has the longest, sexiest legs I've ever seen. Her ass should be criminal. It's soft and round, and I want to know what it feels like in my hands while her legs are wrapped around my waist and I'm balls deep inside of her. I want to know what that soft voice sounds like screaming my name.
I've fantasized about her so much over the last four years it's ridiculous. Since the day I met her, she's looked at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Like she might not object if I gave in to the filthy thoughts running through my head and claimed her.
That's a problem for me.
I don't fuck my daughter's friends. Ever.
But I haven’t fucked anyone at all since I met this particular friend. I keep telling myself it’s because I don’t have time. When I’m being honest with myself, I know that’s a fucking lie. Somewhere over the last four years, Mila Lawson became an obsession I couldn't shake. I've fucking tried. Christ, I've tried. But I can't get her out of my head.
"Motherfucker," I mutter, my heart hammering against my ribcage as I secure my weapon and tuck it into the waistband of my suddenly too-tight jeans. Instead of going inside, I stand there for a minute, watching her, trying to get my heart rate and dick under control.
She leans over the back of the couch, focused on something out of sight.
Her shorts barely cover her round ass and thick thighs. And her legs? Goddamn. Those legs are going to be the death of me. They're completely bare and on full display, making my cock painfully hard. Her blonde hair tumbles in waves down her back, loose from the bun she usually contains it in. Her full lips move as if she's talking to someone, but she's alone.
What is she doing here?
Shit. She can't be here. Not right now. Not when Guerrero and his gang may be looking for me.
Before I can even process the sliver of fear working its way through me, I'm moving quickly up the steps onto the deck and then striding toward the open door.
"Mila."
She jumps backward when I bark her name, a startled cry falling from her lips. Her hip bumps against the table behind the couch, and the glass of wine resting on top wobbles and then crashes to the ground. Shattered glass and white wine spread across the floor at her feet.
Mila's gaze meets mine, her mesmerizing green eyes wide and dilated with fear and something else. Sadness. It clings to her, lingering in her eyes and the dark shadows beneath. And fuck me. The sight makes something possessive twist through me hard and fast. I want to pull her into me and tell her that everything is okay, protect her from whatever has that look on her face.