Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
He frowns as he considers my question. “It’s not that you won’t want to live here, Tash…it’s me. I have been single a very long time and…” he’s trying to articulate his thoughts, “…everybody in LA knows this house as a party house. I would like to live in something that…I don’t know. You and I are the only ones that see…certain parts of the house.”
I give him a sad smile. “You want to move so I’m the only one that has seen your bedroom.” He bites his lip, and his eyes drop to the floor. I hit the nail on the head; he has too many memories here. Memories of other women. I pull him into an embrace.
“Josh, I’m not afraid of your past. It can’t hurt me unless you let it. I want to stay in this house for a while. At least until…I don’t know…down the track when Cam moves out and then if we find an amazing house we can move then. I have enough to worry about moving here than making you sell your beloved house.”
He smiles and nods. “I wasn’t going to sell it. I was going to give it to Cam.”
My mouth drops open. “You are going to give a house worth…what?”
“Twenty mil,” he cuts in.
My eyes bulge from their sockets. “Twenty million. This house is worth twenty frigging million dollars?” He nods and smiles. “And you are going to give it to Cam?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, why not, unless you want to keep it for guests and stuff.” This man has lost touch with reality. I shake my head as he continues pulling me up the hall to the end door and he opens it. “Garage.” He smirks. My mouth drops open, holy fuck. This room is like a parking lot of a dealership. A massive hall with two rows of sports cars that are all black or white. I frown at him.
“I collect cars.” He smiles.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I whisper, wide eyed. He pulls me down the huge walkway through the center of the cars and my jaw is on the ground. OK, I am getting the feel of his money now. This is extravagance…extreme extravagance.
“Aston Martin.” He points. “Corvette.” He points again. “Lamborghini.” He smiles.
I stop dead in my tracks. “You have a Lamborghini?” I smirk.
His eyes light up as he nods. “Yes.” He smiles. And sure enough, a beautiful black Lamborghini comes into view.
I laugh. “And here I was thinking you were my Lamborghini,” I whisper.
He smiles again and kisses me as he places something in my hand. I frown and look down and there in my hand is a silver engraved key ring with a single key on it. I hold the key ring up to inspect the inscription:
Always, Joshua X
Huh? What is that supposed to mean? I turn the key ring over and the initials:
N M S
What do the initials stand for?
He kisses me. “Welcome home, baby. This is your housewarming present.”
He can’t be serious. “Joshua, you’re giving me a Lamborghini as a housewarming present?”
He smiles and nods. “Not just any Lamborghini, this is my most prized possession apart from Jasper.”
I frown again. “Who’s Jasper?”
“My horse,” he whispers as he does wide eyes at me.
“Oh, of course,” I mutter. I cringe that I didn’t remember that important piece of info.
“When I first made real money, I bought this. It’s very sentimental to me. So, when you started calling me your Lamborghini…” He breaks into a full-beam smile and I swoon at the sight of him. “I knew I wanted to gift it to you because it was sentimental between us,” he whispers.
My eyes drop to the car. “It’s beautiful, Josh, very black.”
He laughs out loud. “I give you a Lamborghini and you tell me it’s very black.” I smile as I bite my lip and shrug my shoulders. I walk around the car. It looks like something from space. I don’t even think I have seen one in real life before. My eyes drop to the gold number plates:
N M S
Oh shit, Natasha Marx. He has put my initials on it but, hang on, what does the S stand for? I frown as I look at the number plates and I break into a full smile.
“You put slut on my number plates?” I ask in mock horror. He laughs out loud again and then goes silent, so silent that I look back up at him to see what he’s doing.
“The S stands for Stanton,” he whispers. Did he just say that or is my overactive imagination playing tricks on me?
“Natasha Marx Stanton,” I whisper.
He nods and gives me a nervous smile. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” he says as he grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. His eyes searching mine. My heart started beating out of control and I think I have stopped breathing altogether.