Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“You’re right, this isn’t over,” I warn him. “Because tonight I’m going to let you live. But the next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.”
I let him go but slam my size eighteen motorcycle boot into his groin on the way out, making him howl with pain.
Exiting the bar, I meet Lars in the alleyway.
He gives me a pointed look. “Did you get that out of your system?”
He knows this was dangerous. But he still indulged me because that’s the kind of guy he is.
“For now,” I say, as we walk through the shadows toward our bikes.
Because I meant what I said.
My brother was dead to me the moment he put his hands on Belle.
And the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him.
CHAPTER 32
BELLE
It’s almost midnight before Beast returns to our room.
But gone is the man who earlier took gentle care of me when I was sick.
In his place is a man with a deep frown on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I can feel the heaviness when he walks in.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, removing his keys and wallet and placing them on the dresser.
“Something happened,” I say.
“Something always happens. How are you feeling?”
“Don’t change the subject.” I give him a soft smile. “Talk to me.”
His expression softens and there is an unfamiliar look in his eyes. A wariness.
“It’s nothing to worry yourself about. It’s club business.”
He removes his cut and then his shirt, and I try to ignore my salivating mouth at the sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a wallet chain hanging off his hip.
A shirtless Beast is pure eye candy.
And now that I’m feeling much better, it’s candy I wouldn’t mind sucking on.
God, when did I get so corny.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
“A sandwich. But stop trying to change the topic.” He sits on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and I climb on behind him. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things.”
“Unlike my wife to be, I’m not a talker.”
“No kidding, I would never have guessed. But you look like you need to get something off your chest. And I am going to be your old lady.”
He turns his head to face me, but there is no humor on his face. “But not a real one.”
His words sting like a palm against my cheek, and I sit back, my smile slipping.
The rejection whips through me. Which is ridiculous because he’s right.
I try not to let the feelings burrow into my chest but fail.
“You’re right.” I climb off the bed and gather some clothes to sleep in. “I’m going to take a shower.”
His words cut deep and I hate that they do, and to hide the way they churn in my stomach I escape to the shower and stay there for a while.
Until this insanity ceases.
I have no business feeling crushed by Beast’s acknowledgment that I won’t be a real old lady. Because he’s right. This isn’t real.
But then we kissed…
Several times.
Under the steady stream of warm water, I attempt to make sense of my emotional reaction. I’m exhausted. I’m worried about Uncle Maurice. We crossed the line of intimacy when I slid onto his lap and kissed him for real. And he almost made me come.
Of course his words stung. I’m clearly losing my mind.
After my shower, I take my time getting ready for bed. I brush my teeth and moisturize my skin with the face cream Mya left for me.
I’m kind of praying Beast gets called away on club business while I’m in here. But when I open the bathroom door, I’m hit with the delectable aroma of pumpkin pie. My favorite dessert.
And this one smells good.
Really good.
Beast is sitting at the little table near the arched window, a plate of pumpkin pie and cream in front of him.
“I had dessert brought to our room,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I know you like it.”
I gnaw at my lip.
“Come here,” he says.
“I think I’ll just go to bed.”
I climb onto the bed and pull the sheets over my lap. Which doesn’t perturb him in the slightest.
He makes a show of how delicious the pie is, scooping a heap onto the spoon and devouring it. I watch him slowly slide the spoon from his mouth.
My stomach rumbles.
My mouth waters.
Fine.
If he wants me to eat, I suppose I should. After all, I have decided to be more compliant.
I climb out of bed while Beast pulls another scoop onto the spoon.
Before I reach the chair, he grabs it and positions it so it faces him.
“Sit,” he says.
I eye the plate of pumpkin pie. It’s a huge piece. I could break some off and take it back to bed with me. But the crumbs…
So I sit, and Beast offers me a spoon. He holds the plate between us and we start to eat.