Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Curly remained standing. He seemed to instinctively know how to avoid spooking her. As she was about to invite him to sit, movement behind him had her jaw dropping.
Frost stepped to the side, coming into full view. If she’d found the man attractive last night, it was nothing compared to how incredible he looked in the light of day. Shaggy hair, tattoos, muscles, the works. With his solemn expression, size, and a general air of toughness, he was exactly the type of man she steered clear of, yet all she could think of was licking the ink peeking out of his collar.
Never before had she had such a visceral reaction to a man.
Well, not a positive one.
She’d had plenty of dread-induced cold sweats, racing hearts, and constricted throats.
But this desire to rip a man’s clothes and throw herself at him. That was new. Not that she’d ever do it because, if he wanted, he could snap her in two with a flick of his wrist.
“Rachel?” Curly followed her gaze. “You seemed comfortable around Frost last night, which is why I brought him. If you’d prefer, he can sit at the counter.”
“Oh, uh, no, that’s… totally fine.” The last two words came out quickly.
As long as no one minds a little drool.
“Please. Sit.” She gestured to the empty side of the booth.
“Thanks.” Curly slid in opposite her.
Instead of sitting next to his president, as she’d assumed he do, Frost walked to her side of the bench. “Scoot over, babe,” he said. He left her no choice but to move, or he’d end up in her lap.
“Wha—? I, oh, okay.” Rachel glided along the bench until her shoulder bumped the wall. Frost slid in next to her but, thankfully, left about a foot of space between.
“Hey!” Curly barked.
Rachel jumped at the tone and stared at her half-brother whose glare seared Frost.
“That’s my fucking sister. She ain’t your babe.”
Frost didn’t respond but lifted his hands in surrender.
Two seconds ticked by where Rachel stared wide-eyed between the men, then she burst out laughing. When both men looked at her, she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said behind her palm.
Curly winked. “Just trying out the big brother role. So,” he said with a grin. “How old are you, Rachel? Because you look young enough to be my daughter.
“Uh, I’m twenty-four.”
“Christ.” Curly ran a hand over his race. “You are young enough to be my daughter.”
Frost snickered, which earned him another glare from his forty-seven-year-old president.
“Good mornin’, welcome to Whisk and Griddle. Can I start you folks off with some coffee?”
Curly looked at her, and she nodded. Her day didn’t begin until the first hit of caffeine made its way to her veins. “Yes, ma’am. Coffee’s perfect.”
“You folks need a minute to look at the menu?”
She hadn’t so much as glanced at the thing, too spun up to concentrate on reading.
“You ready to order, Rach?” Curly asked.
The nickname warmed her heart. “Yeah. I’ll have an egg white omelet with spinach and tomatoes, potatoes, and a fruit cup, please.”
Frost grunted. “Rabbit food.”
She chuckled. “Yeah? Let me guess what you’re gonna order.” She tapped her chin. “A tall stack of chocolate chip pancakes with extra bacon, two eggs, and a side of biscuits with gravy?”
He grinned, and she nearly melted right there in the booth. No man’s smile should be so potent. “Hell, yeah, that sounds good.” He shifted his focus to the waitress. “I’ll have what she said, but with extra whipped cream on those pancakes.”
Rachel chuckled and shook her head. She’d be full for a week if she ate that much.
Curly ordered a western omelet and then handed their menus over to the waitress. “So,” he continued once the server had ambled off to deposit their order with the kitchen. “I don’t want you to think I don’t believe you when you say we’re related…” He seemed to choose his words carefully, which made sense. If some random person twenty-some-odd years her junior came by and said they were related, she’d demand proof in a much less kind manner than Curly. Hell, she’d have probably sent them packing.
She lifted a hand. “Let me stop you right there. I absolutely do not expect you to believe me without evidence, which I have.” She grabbed the paperwork from her purse and presented it to her brother. “I went through my adoption agency’s investigations division. They were able to trace my records back to my birth. Our father’s name was not on my birth certificate, but my mother mentioned it to her nurse in the delivery room. The nurse had documented it. He had DNA on record with the penal system, so when I had a DNA test performed, it came back a match. Which led me to you.”
Curly took the papers from her outstretched hand. As he perused the documents, she couldn’t help but monitor his facial expressions. What was he thinking? Would he be interested in getting to know her? Would he thank her for the information and send her on her way. Could they have a relationship, or would they be the type of siblings who send a card each Christmas and chatted once a year?