Bull (The Buck Boys Heroes 1)

“No need.” He turns back to scan a row of books.

“I see a need,” I press. “It can’t hurt to get a second opinion.”

“Reach that one up there for me.” Lloyd points a finger to a shelf just out of his reach. “The book with the pale blue spine.”

Frustrated that he’s ignoring my suggestion, I take a few steps until I’m next to him. I slide the thick book free, taking note of the title.

A Fool’s Grace.

Judging by the moody, dark cover image, I doubt this classifies as light-hearted reading.

I hand it off to him.

“I’ve read it twice,” he confesses. “The charm in the prose is unrivaled. I get swept into the story every damn time even though I know how it ends.”

I drop my gaze from his face to the book. “Maybe I should consider giving it a read when you’re done.”

His face beams with a wide-mouth smile. “You should, Bull. You should take advantage of all of this.”

He arcs his hand in the air, and I follow its path with my eyes.

I almost huff out a laugh when I catch sight of something odd perched on a shelf near the corner.

“This room is full of treasures,” he goes on. “Reading can sweep you into another world. One where everything is exactly as you want it to be.”

I’m feeling that now and it has nothing to do with any of the thousands of books lining the shelves.

I stalk toward the shelf holding the item I can’t take my eyes off of. I point at it. “How long has this been here?”

Lloyd approaches me. “For as long as I can remember. It was here the day you moved in when you gave me a grand tour of the place.”

Well, fuck.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, I shake my head.

“I’m heading to my room now.” I feel Lloyd’s hand land on my shoulder. “Tell your wife I adore her. You’re a lucky man, Graham. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t ever forget it,” I say because he’s right. I may just be the goddamn luckiest man on this planet.

Chapter Forty-Two

Trina

I bark out a laugh as soon as I exit the bathroom wearing only a white tank top and a pair of pink lace panties.

While I was busy getting out of the bath, Graham decided to strip and set himself in the middle of the bed. He’s flat on his back.

That’s not what has brought on my non-stop laughter.

It’s the thing that’s sitting atop his bare chest. He must have seen it in the library when he was in there with Lloyd.

“Trina.” My name snaps off his lips with a groan. “You went for a drink with me that night because you wanted to.”

I’m busted, and I don’t even care.

“I told you that you had a pelican statue.” I motion to where the ceramic statue is perched on his chest. “How could you not know that you owned that work of art?”

He reaches down to circle his hard cock with his hand. “I’m the only one who has ever referred to this as a work of art. I’m happy to know you see it the same way I do.”

Still laughing, I sit my ass on the bed next to him. “I almost went to the library to get that pelican so I could win the bet, but a martini sounded too good to pass up.”

Keeping his eyes pinned on my face, he gives his cock a slow stroke. “You didn’t do it just for the drink. You wanted to go to that bar with me.”

“Maybe,” I say softly.

“You liked me even then.”

“Don’t push your luck.” I move to grab the statue before I place it carefully on the nightstand next to the bed.

It’s not large. It can’t be more than eight or nine inches tall, but it’s charming in an abstract way.

Once it’s set down, I crawl back onto the bed and onto my husband. I straddle him, settling so I can feel his cock pressing against my core.

He grips my thighs with his hands. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Your work of art?” I perch a brow. “Or that pelican?”

“Both,” he snaps the word from his tongue with a smile.

“The statue reminds me of one I saw a long time ago.”

“When?” he asks instantly as his thumbs circle my inner thighs.

I rest a hand in the center of his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart. “I was eight.”

His eyes travel over my face. “Eight-year-old Trina must have been an amazing kid.”

Reaching for the bottom hem of my top, I tug it over my head to reveal my breasts. “I was a typical eight-year-old who had never been outside of New York City.”

He watches me intently as I toss my top on the bed next to us.

“One of the regular customers at the bakery offered my parents their beach house on Long Island for a weekend.”