Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
My body’s reaction to it all, though, isn’t what it should be. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I shouldn’t want him to touch me.
With a groan, I force the thoughts out of my mind and walk into the bathroom. I switch on the light. It, like the rest of the house, is bright and beautiful with its pedestal sink made completely of marble, antique brass fixtures and mirror. I don’t dally, though. I hurry to put on my makeup. What takes the most time is the foundation because I have to layer and blend so well. I meant what I said. It upsets Wren to see it. But I also don’t like anyone staring and they do stare.
He asked if she remembered that night and I hope she never does. Let that be the one blessing of what happened to her. The damage he did.
Ten minutes later, I return to the kitchen to find Cynthia plating an omelet for me. There’s also juice and coffee. Zeke’s gone. I drink the juice first and eat the omelet. I’m starving, again. I feel like I’ve been starving for years.
I’m almost finished my plate when he returns carrying the laptop and the Ziploc containing the gun.
“You ate all that?” he asks, looking surprised.
“I don’t waste food,” I say, wiping the corner of my mouth. I’m sure a man like him has never known hunger, so I don’t bother to explain myself.
He looks at my face and I’m suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s fine,” he says. “You can’t see it.”
I nod, turn to Cynthia. “Thanks for breakfast. That was really good. Are you getting rid of the bacon?” I ask, seeing the extra strips in the pan that she’s carrying toward the sink.
“Unless you want them,” she says, eyebrows raised.
I walk over, pick them out of the pan and eat them, too. “What?” I ask Zeke who is staring at me.
“Nothing. Wash your hands. I don’t want grease in my car.”
I roll my eyes and wash my hands, remembering the first night I was here. Has it only been forty-eight hours?
“Let’s go,” Zeke says and gestures to the front door.
“What are you doing with those?” I ask about the things he’s holding.
“Dropping them off with my brother. I know someone who’s good with computers.” His expression is mocking.
“Oh. There’s nothing on there.”
“Well, then you won’t mind if I just make sure for myself,” he says and opens the front door.
“One more thing,” I say, turning to face him. I pull the chain up from under my dress. “Wren won’t understand what this is.”
He grins. “You can explain it to her. Or I can.”
I shake my head. “This is serious. Take it off.”
“When are you going to learn you don’t call the shots.”
“Please take it off,” I force myself to say. “Just until our visit is over. You can put it right back on after.”
He sighs. “I’m not heartless.” He sets the laptop and the Ziplock down on the table beside the door and takes a small key out of his pocket. “Look up.”
I do. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his aftershave. He bends down, and I try not think about how I smell hints of leather in his aftershave or feel anything like that ridiculous shudder as his fingertips brush the skin at my throat while he unlocks the delicate but strong chain.
He straightens, eyes locked on me as he slowly pulls it up out of my dress, taking his time as he gathers it up in the palm of one big hand.
“Just keep in mind I did that for you without asking anything in return,” he says, pocketing chain and key.
“You’re so generous.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I think he’s amused. But no, that can’t be right. Is a man like him ever amused?
I blink away and turn to step out into the sunshine where an SUV is parked on the circular drive. He passes me to unlock the door and opens the passenger side, but before I step in, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, stopping me.
Does he feel that subtle spark of electricity? Does my skin burn his like his does mine? What is it about this man that has me feeling these strange, unfamiliar feelings? I should hate him. At the very least be afraid of him, and in some ways, I am, but there’s something else too. Him offering his protection in exchange for information and my sexual submission, I don’t know, I should rebel at least against that last part, but that’s not what I want to do. I want it. I want all of it.
And out of all of that, I’m stuck on one word: protection.
To be protected. To feel protected.
I haven’t felt protected in a long, long time. I’ve felt hunted.