Ruthless In A Suit (Book Two) by Ivy Carter

Author:Ivy Carter [Carter, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Favor Ford Publishing
Published: 2016-12-13T18:30:00+00:00

LEVI

“This is seriously all of your stuff?” I ask as I bring the third box, marked “Art Supplies” into my home—our home now—and set it on the wood floor in the foyer.

“That’s the last of it,” she replies, wheeling in a suitcase behind her.

Three boxes and two suitcases.

That’s all she comes with.

I didn’t know it was possible for a woman to take a vacation with that little luggage, much less move all her earthly possessions.

She shrugs. “What can I say? I travel light.”

“You can say that again,” I reply, leaning in for a kiss.

Every time I kiss those plump lips, I still get hard, like a fucking teenager. I’m not sure if it’s because we’re waiting to have sex or if it’s just her—but she makes me hornier than any woman I’ve ever been with.

And lately, more and more, I’m starting to forget that I’m playing a role.

More and more it feels like the role has become who I truly am, and that who I was prior to meeting Cadence was the act.

“I still feel weird living here,” she says, her eyes sweeping over the foyer as if for the first time. She’s spent basically every night since we got home from the Cape here. It’s the house I grew up in, a limestone townhouse in Back Bay, built at the turn of the century. The place is probably worth well over ten million at this point, and I’d be happy to sell it, but it belongs to my father.

And it will, until my father dies and it belongs to her.

Once again, I feel a pit in my stomach as I realize I still haven’t told her. And after speaking with the doctors at Mass General yesterday, I know the big reveal is drawing closer by the day.

Dad’s health has been declining, though he’s still holding on. And while before that was a nuisance to me, now I’m glad he’s prolonging the inevitable.

I’m not ready to tell her.

Because at this point, I’m not entirely sure if she’s ever going to forgive me. In fact, knowing her as I do, it’s going to be an uphill battle to reclaim her trust, a battle I’m ready to fight, if she’ll let me. But she might not, and I’m not ready to lose her.

“What’s mine is yours,” I say, barely croaking out the answer, the truth of it feeling sinister in my mouth. “But we could live somewhere else. If you want to look for a place.”

“We’ll see,” she says. “I’d hate to kick you out of your childhood home.”

Again, I feel sick.

To distract myself, I pick up the box marked Art Supplies and start up the steps. “I figure we can get a little studio set up for you in the attic room. It’s got a nice window and a skylight. It’ll be perfect.”

She smiles. “My own studio,” she muses. “I never would have imagined.”

“Anything for you.” And I mean it. I’d do anything for her. The feeling of telling her stepmother off was better than winning a million big cases.

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