Almost Paradise (Sinners on Tour Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

with it. And if he and Rebekah adopted kids together, those poor little shits would be stuck with it as well.
    She touched his arm near the last words. “Don’t you need a comma between perfect and fucking? Otherwise people might thinking I’m your perfect fucking-woman, not your perfect, fucking woman.”
    “But you’re both, so…” He shrugged and shook his head.
    She smiled. “Hurry up and get your dressing on. We need to be alone so I can devour you.” She slid a hand down his hip, and his belly tightened. She was irresistible—he couldn’t deny that—but he hadn’t forgotten their bet. This was one he was determined to win.
    Rebekah didn’t seem too upset that they skipped out on taking Butch up on his wedding gift—that private hotel room down the block. She climbed into the passenger seat of the Corvette and leaned against the door, letting the ocean breeze toy with her hair as they drove up the coast. The top was down, since it still hadn’t been replaced and was a tattered mess, and golden rays danced over her skin. Only her left arm, which was covered from wrist to shoulder with plastic wrap, remained untouched by the sun’s warmth. He couldn’t believe his wife had braved an entire sleeve just to solidify the connection between them.
    “I guess we’ll go in for more tattoo work after our honeymoon,” Eric said as they left the Pacific and the Los Angeles sprawl behind and neared their country home. He took a different route than usual, wanting to extend the time they spent driving in quiet companionship. Before he’d met Rebekah, he’d taken long, quiet drives alone. But he didn’t have to go it alone anymore. Her comforting presence would always be beside him.
    “Stop the car!” Rebekah said unexpectedly, sitting up tall in her seat.
    Startled, Eric hit the brakes, expecting to see an escaped zoo elephant blocking the two-lane road. There was nothing in front of them and thankfully, no cars behind them. His heart thundering and his breath coming in rapid gasps, Eric turned to his wife, who was unfastening her seat belt and reaching for the door handle.
    “What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me.”
    “It’s perfect,” she said breathlessly, her gazed fixed on a heap of metal parked in a grassy field.
    Eric followed her lovesick gaze to a beat-up, gaudily painted Volkswagen bus. Rebekah stumbled up the uneven terrain of a bank and raced toward the vehicle, hopping up and down excitedly as she pointed at the For Sale message painted in white letters on the side window.
    Eric moved the Corvette to the shoulder of the road before climbing out and joining his exuberant wife in the meadow.
    “I didn’t know you had a thing for foreign pieces of junk,” Eric said as he examined the faded hand-painted flower motif and the dust-covered windows.
    Rebekah covered his mouth with her hand. “Shush! You’ll hurt her feelings. She’s not junk. She’s a classic.”
    Eric understood the allure of a classic car, but this dreadful box on wheels? He wasn’t seeing the appeal. He shielded his eyes with a hand and peered in through the dusty window. This thing had been sitting a while. A long while. The interior was completely rotted away from years of baking in the sun. But that didn’t stop Rebekah from opening the driver-side door, which creaked loudly in protest, and scrambling inside.
    “Do you want to come home with me?” she asked the van as she plopped behind the wheel, sending up an impressive plume of dust. “I’ll make you feel all better.”
    She stroked the steering wheel and dashboard gauges. It was as if she’d found an injured, and rather ugly, stray dog to love. And when Rebekah responded to things like that, he had to buy them for her. There was no question or doubt.
    With a resigned sigh, Eric pulled out his cellphone and dialed the number that had been drawn on the window in white paint.
    “Hello?” The grizzled voice of an elderly man answered after several