Read Online Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) by Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott
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inside her, his leather-and-smoke scent soaking into her skin.
She wanted to marry him and have his babies and live a totally impractical life made up of sex on planes and music and laughter and arguments over Mr. Lee’s Chinese food at 3 a.m. Somehow she saw all of those possibilities in his steady golden gaze.
All of it was on the tip of her tongue, even knowing he’d dismiss her ramblings as some end-of-the-world plane crash scenario. But they weren’t. She was just finally fully admitting to herself that she was ready to leap—with no parachute and no landing gear at all except his hand gripping hers.
Instead of all that, she whispered the one thing she knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—refute. “I love you.”
His smile was all she needed to exist in this world. “Not as much as I love you.”
5
Nick
S urviving a potential plane crash with blue balls was not the way Nick wanted to start his Christmas vacation.
Especially since he was supposed to be on his A-game for speaking to Fred Ronson, Lila’s father. And Laverne too, probably. The tradition said to ask the father for permission, but damn, that seemed old-fashioned. Lila was a modern woman. Both her parents should be told in advance.
If she’s so modern, why are you asking them at all?
“It’s a ritual for a reason,” he said, striking a match and holding it up to his purloined cigarette. He only had three left in his dented pack, since he was supposed to have quit months ago. Mostly, he had. Only on days like this was he allowed to slip.
Near death and near marriage gave a man good cause to light up.
They’d survived their bumpy flight and touched down at a small, rarely used air-pad for the terminally rich ninety minutes from their original destination. After a cab ride to the rental car place, they’d made the rest of the trip via Chevy Suburban, the last large vehicle left at that particular lot. Lila had made noises about alternate arrangements, but he really didn’t give a fuck. If it had a steering wheel and a gas pedal, good enough.
Now he was in the kitchen at Happy Acres, a cig clamped between his teeth and the back door wedged open so the smoke didn’t hover in the room. Lila and her parents were out getting the main room ready for that night’s Christmas open house, whatever the heck that meant. Happy Acres was an orchard and store that was open all the time from late summer right through the holidays. How much more open could they get?
How much more panic babbling could he do in his head?
They’d left him to keep an eye on the pies. Him. Like he knew how to do anything other than throwing a couple steaks on the barbecue grill he’d insisted they buy for Lila’s high-class patio back in LA. She hadn’t been terribly enthused until he’d shown her what he could do with tongs and charcoal.
Otherwise, he was pretty much not meant for stepping foot into a kitchen. But this was supposed to be easy. Just wait until the little ding from the timer and then take out the steaming hot pies to stack on the stand on the counter.
Even he could handle that.
He had to admit they smelled incredible. Laverne had made noises about doing a full range of them, from peach-apple to blueberry-apple to cherry-rhubarb-apple. As a purist, his preference was plain old apple-apple, but that one wasn’t done yet. The only one that had come out so far was the peach-apple.
Another ding and Nick bit down on his cigarette as he grabbed the oversized oven mitts. He had to listen closely, because the second he heard approaching footsteps, his cig was going in the sink. He’d have to discreetly pry it out before anyone noticed, but it was his best option other than booking it out the back door.
He pulled open the oven door and stepped back, nearly bowled over by the orgasm-worthy plethora of scents. He groaned. His dick was still hard from earlier. He did not need to be getting aroused at some hot pie action.
A scuffle behind him made him start to
She wanted to marry him and have his babies and live a totally impractical life made up of sex on planes and music and laughter and arguments over Mr. Lee’s Chinese food at 3 a.m. Somehow she saw all of those possibilities in his steady golden gaze.
All of it was on the tip of her tongue, even knowing he’d dismiss her ramblings as some end-of-the-world plane crash scenario. But they weren’t. She was just finally fully admitting to herself that she was ready to leap—with no parachute and no landing gear at all except his hand gripping hers.
Instead of all that, she whispered the one thing she knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—refute. “I love you.”
His smile was all she needed to exist in this world. “Not as much as I love you.”
5
Nick
S urviving a potential plane crash with blue balls was not the way Nick wanted to start his Christmas vacation.
Especially since he was supposed to be on his A-game for speaking to Fred Ronson, Lila’s father. And Laverne too, probably. The tradition said to ask the father for permission, but damn, that seemed old-fashioned. Lila was a modern woman. Both her parents should be told in advance.
If she’s so modern, why are you asking them at all?
“It’s a ritual for a reason,” he said, striking a match and holding it up to his purloined cigarette. He only had three left in his dented pack, since he was supposed to have quit months ago. Mostly, he had. Only on days like this was he allowed to slip.
Near death and near marriage gave a man good cause to light up.
They’d survived their bumpy flight and touched down at a small, rarely used air-pad for the terminally rich ninety minutes from their original destination. After a cab ride to the rental car place, they’d made the rest of the trip via Chevy Suburban, the last large vehicle left at that particular lot. Lila had made noises about alternate arrangements, but he really didn’t give a fuck. If it had a steering wheel and a gas pedal, good enough.
Now he was in the kitchen at Happy Acres, a cig clamped between his teeth and the back door wedged open so the smoke didn’t hover in the room. Lila and her parents were out getting the main room ready for that night’s Christmas open house, whatever the heck that meant. Happy Acres was an orchard and store that was open all the time from late summer right through the holidays. How much more open could they get?
How much more panic babbling could he do in his head?
They’d left him to keep an eye on the pies. Him. Like he knew how to do anything other than throwing a couple steaks on the barbecue grill he’d insisted they buy for Lila’s high-class patio back in LA. She hadn’t been terribly enthused until he’d shown her what he could do with tongs and charcoal.
Otherwise, he was pretty much not meant for stepping foot into a kitchen. But this was supposed to be easy. Just wait until the little ding from the timer and then take out the steaming hot pies to stack on the stand on the counter.
Even he could handle that.
He had to admit they smelled incredible. Laverne had made noises about doing a full range of them, from peach-apple to blueberry-apple to cherry-rhubarb-apple. As a purist, his preference was plain old apple-apple, but that one wasn’t done yet. The only one that had come out so far was the peach-apple.
Another ding and Nick bit down on his cigarette as he grabbed the oversized oven mitts. He had to listen closely, because the second he heard approaching footsteps, his cig was going in the sink. He’d have to discreetly pry it out before anyone noticed, but it was his best option other than booking it out the back door.
He pulled open the oven door and stepped back, nearly bowled over by the orgasm-worthy plethora of scents. He groaned. His dick was still hard from earlier. He did not need to be getting aroused at some hot pie action.
A scuffle behind him made him start to
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