Knots (Club Imperial Book 4) by Rhodes Katherine

Author:Rhodes, Katherine [Rhodes, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beau Coup Publishing, LLC
Published: 2015-08-17T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“Mom would kill you if she found you waiting on the porch for your date,” Hannah said, as Cece closed and locked the door.

“This little cottage is my sanctuary.” Cece pulled on the door to make sure it was locked. “I am not letting just anyone in. Including a fiancé.”

“That’s harsh.” Hannah walked down the steps with Cece following. Hannah’s peppy little Audi TT sat in the driveway waiting for her.

“Meh,” Cece answered as Hannah turned over the engine after climbing in. “I don’t know him from Adam, and I won’t let him in to the place until I do.”

Hannah rolled down the window. “Who’s Adam? Your fuckbuddy?”

The swat Cece gave her sister was utterly harmless. “Stop prying. Didn’t you get enough info? And speaking of pissing mom off, nice mouth.”

“I have the vocabulary of a well educated sailor, sis. So fuck off kindly.”

“So polite.”

“Call me when this is over? I want to know how it all went.” The engine revved and Cece didn’t even bother to try and answer the question. With a playfully annoyed shake of the head, she stepped back from the car and watched her sister pull out of the driveway and disappear down the block.

She had really let her sister in, in a big way--and it felt good.

She wandered back up to the front porch of the house and sat on the swing. She rocked slowly as the sun started to set. Talking to Hannah had been cathartic and terrifying, with touch of ‘oh shit’-ness tossed in for good measure.

Mostly concerning what the hell she was going to do about Killian and Everett.

Killian was… what she wanted. Everything she wanted. But Everett was what she needed right now. Sex, damn good fucking sex, without a figurative strings attached. Killian knew almost nothing about her, but wanted to--clearly. Everett knew everything about and held nothing against her.

And then there was Paul.

The car eased into the driveway, and Cece got her first glimpse of Paul Wainwright in eight years.

Holy shit.

The car was a gorgeous, perfectly restored 1965 Cherry Red Mustang, and then engine purred like a kitten. She was no car expert, but she was sure the engine had been tweaked to run quiet. The glass, the chrome, the paint was all immaculate. The wheels shined, the tires were clean and bright, and the cream leather interior looked flawless.

Paul folded himself out of the car; it was the only way to describe the motion and when he stood, she realized why. Paul was ridiculously tall, six foot five or better and built like a fucking Greek God. Broad, square shoulders clad in a casual button down shirt tucked neatly into a black pair of perfectly pressed pants that hugged a narrow waist. He had a strong, aquiline nose that shouldn’t have been such a compliment to his nearly-square-jaw, but was. His eyes were big, and nearly black, and his pitch black hair was short, but so easy to see that its natural state was a loose curl.

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