Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.When We Let Go by Delancey Stewart (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📖
- Author: Delancey Stewart
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“April.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “No, it’s not a birthday cake. It’s an ‘I’m not under investigation anymore’ cake.”
I grinned. “I’m so glad,” I said.
He nodded his head, the grin widening and the dimples deepening beneath the light stubble around his mouth. “The police called today and confirmed that the calls and letters I’d told them about were genuine. Mr. Terry confessed.”
“You were getting calls and letters?” He’d never mentioned that.
“I get a lot of weird mail. I write dark books, it attracts crazy people sometimes.”
I nodded.
“But they got pretty specific about Amanda, and I’d given them to the police, but they didn’t think they were valid evidence since they were coming from their lead suspect.”
“That sucks.”
He shrugged. “So it’s officially over. The tabloids are still working their smear campaign,” he said. “But my agent says that’s just because I never give them anything else to write about.”
“And because you’re so hot.”
He smirked and gave me a level gaze.
“And they have my photo to prove it.”
“I guess they’re still using the photo,” he said. “But I have an idea about that.”
“You do?” I plopped down on the small couch by the window and looked up at him. Even the mention of the photo still made me feel guilty.
He nodded. “I’m going to help you sue Jack for copyright violation. That was your photo. He stole it.”
Hadn’t I threatened Jack with that? I smiled, imagining Jack’s face when he realized that I’d been serious. “That’s a good idea.”
“Or at least I’m going to threaten to sue him, and also let him know that I plan to let the magazine know that he sold them a photo he didn’t own.”
“Why just threaten?” I was shaking my head, confused.
“I don’t really want anything from him,” he said, pointing the chocolate covered spoon at me. “But you do. And if he thinks he might be able to stop the suit going forward by meeting your demands, then everyone wins.”
“Except Jack,” I said, perhaps too gleefully.
“Jack wins by not getting sued. And by realizing he can’t just push everyone around.”
“That’s a really good idea, though I doubt Jack will ever realize either of those things.”
“I’ll call my lawyer first thing tomorrow and get it going,” he said. “But in the meantime, I thought we should celebrate the fact that I’m not a predator after all.”
I grinned. “I’m so glad,” I said. “Though even when I thought you were in the back of that police car, I don’t think I ever really believed you were a predator.”
“I hope not.” His voice was serious now. He turned to face me, putting the wooden spoon into the bowl of batter first. “We’ve had enough challenges,” he said. “Maybe now we can focus on finding out what’s here between us, beyond allegations and distant memories.”
“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing a lime green apron, Betty Crocker.” I grinned.
“Oh is it?” A sexy smile spread across his face. “Well, I don’t want my ganache to burn, but when it’s done, I’m going to show you how serious I am.”
I laughed, and my body tingled in anticipation. “Promise?”
“Better believe it,” he said, winking.
I leaned back in my seat and let my head rest on the wall behind me. I was still stuck in a trailer, but now it felt more like a safe and happy cave than a cage. And I had company. Company that knew how to make chocolate cake.
Connor slid a glass of wine in front of me and leaned down to kiss my cheek.
Life was definitely improving.
The next few days were blissful. We spent time alternately in the trailer or at Connor’s house, eating, drinking, and tumbling around under warm blankets as the weather outside turned noticeably cooler.
I practiced switching lenses quickly and taking a variety of shots at various ranges to get ready for the wedding.
“You do that fast,” Connor said, watching me put the telephoto lens onto the camera.
“It still takes too long,” I said. “I waste time getting the other one put away. I don’t want to drop it into the bag, it’ll get scratched.”
“You need an assistant.”
“I had one of those once.” That had been nice. But I could hardly afford to pay anyone to help me now.
“Maybe a lazy writer with nothing else filling his days?”
I stared at him. He was lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hand, flannel pajama bottoms pulled dangerously low around his hips and a spread of auburn across his strong chest. His hair glowed in the firelight. He grinned.
“Seriously? It’s not glamorous.”
“Oh well, in that case,” he said, mock-flipping his imaginary long hair. He leveled his gaze at me. “I don’t care. I want to help. Glamor isn’t really my thing anyway.”
“Would you really help?” It would be so much easier to hand him the lenses and have him put them away and get the next one ready. Then I wouldn’t miss an important shot.
“I really would. I’d love to, actually.”
I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Seriously.” He sat up and put his cup on the table. “You told me you like watching me write.”
“I do.” I’d told him that a few days ago when he’d pulled the laptop into his lap as we sat out on his deck. A veil dropped over him while he wrote, and his fingers flew. It’s like watching someone completely transported by their own focus, their own mind. It was fascinating, and it was also really sexy to see him so committed to his work.
“Well, it’s no different for me. When you have that camera in your hands, I think you see the world differently. You shift into photographer-mode, and it’s sexy as hell.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Jack had hated my camera.
“You look completely happy when you’re taking pictures, Mad.”
I stared at the camera in my hands for a minute. It felt like part of me, an extension of my fingers. He was right. “Because I am,” I agreed.
“And I’d like to help.”
“Thanks,” I said, putting the camera down and walking over to kiss his cheek. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course, you’ll have to pay me back.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me and holding me there immobile so I was staring up into his face.
“What kind of payment did you have in mind?”
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” he said, his voice low and ominous. Then a serious look crossed his face. “Actually, I know.”
He released me and I sat up. “What?”
“Let me help with the house.”
I shook my head. “That’s my problem.”
“And I love you. It’s our problem.”
He had dropped those three words so naturally, I almost didn’t hear them—or wasn’t sure I’d heard them right. My heart accelerated in my chest and warmth flooded me. I couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across my face.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, the blue eyes shining in the firelight.
“You love me?’
He grinned. “Did I say that?”
I nodded and he pulled me to him, laying me across his lap again while he cradled me in his arms. “Then I guess it must be true. I do. I love you, Maddie Turner. Is that okay?”
I couldn’t help giggling. I nodded again. As his eyes shone, I did a quick inventory of my own feelings, and wasn’t surprised to find an abundance of warmth and concern for Connor overflowing within me. I tried to imagine life without him at this point, and the thought left me empty and cold. I loved him, too. I hadn’t thought to say it yet. “I love you, too,” I said. “But the house is my problem.”
He smiled and then shook his head at me. “All right, stubborn girl,” he said. “But the offer stands.”
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