Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Nothing,” I tell him then lean back when his hands go to the top of the desk and his body looms over until his face is just inches from mine.
“That bruise on your face doesn’t look like nothing. Wanna try again?” he taunts as his face twist in anger.
“Not particularly,” I mumble sitting further back in my chair.
“Too bad. What happened?” he rumbles, lifting one hand, touching my cheek gently.
“My sister stole money from some guy,” I say, and then regret it instantly when his energy changes and wraps around me so tight that my breath comes out in a rush.
“He put his hands on you?” His words are soft, but the angry, vibrating energy I feel coming off of him grates against my skin. “Tell me everything.”
“Sven,” His body leans even closer to me as he snarls, “Now.”
“Sheesh, fine.” I take a deep breath and let it out then tell him about hearing someone at the door and thinking that my sister was home but that she lost her key. Then I tell him about the guys breaking in and the police showing up. I only stop talking when I tell him that I stayed at a hotel last night and he roars.
“You didn’t call me?”
“I knew you were probably busy.” I shrug, trying to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.
“I wasn’t. Goddammit, Mags! You should have fucking called me.” He paces back and forth in front of the desk then goes to the window behind me and looks out over the club. “You’re staying with me until your sister cleans her fucking mess up.”
“N… No, I’m not,” I choke out in distress at the idea.
“You are, and if you even think about going anywhere but my penthouse, I will track your ass down and drag you back with me.”
“Sven, don’t be stupid.” His penthouse is nice, really nice, but it only has one bedroom, and his couch isn’t even one you would want to sleep on if left with no choice. It’s modern and edgy, but in no way does it say ‘come sleep on me’.
“Do we need to go to your place to get some stuff?” he asks, ignoring me.
“I’m not staying with you,” I repeat.
“You are,” he says, storming out of his office. Digging my compact out of my bag, I look at myself in the mirror. I thought I had done a good job covering up the bruises, but apparently I hadn’t.
“Mags.”
“What?” I huff, looking up from the computer once more when he storms back into the office.
“Get up. We’re meeting with a realtor in thirty minutes.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re right. My place now doesn’t really have space,” he grits out as he walks over to the bathroom and shuts the door halfway then continues talking through the small gap. “We’re going to look at a few houses,” he says, and I can hear him flush then the water turn on before the door opens and he steps out. “Do you need anything before we head out?”
“Are you crazy?” I ask, frowning and standing from the chair I’m sitting in.
“Nope,” he denies, walking toward me. Taking my elbow, he stops at the door and grabs my bag then pulls me with him out of his office, down the stairs, and through the club. He then leads me to his SUV and sets me inside, yelling for me to put my belt on as he slams the door.
“Put your seatbelt on,” I mimic under my breath as I slide it around me, locking it in place.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare out the windshield. Five hours ago, we met up with a guy named Don, who I learned moments after meeting him was a realtor. Don seems like a nice enough guy, but since meeting up with him, we have seen ten houses—okay, not houses, mansions—and now we’re on our way to view another.
“You haven’t even attempted to appreciate any of them,” Sven grumbles, and I turn my head and transfer my glare to him.
“Do you know how crazy it is to buy a house that you don’t even want?” I ask, really wondering if he understands how ridiculous this is.
“I want a house,” he says, shifting in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
“For what, Sven?” I ask, holding up my hand and ticking off my fingers one at a time. “You’re single, you don’t have a wife or kids, and you don’t need more space.” I sigh, placing my hand back in my lap. “You’re talking about spending millions of dollars just so I have a room to sleep in for a few days. That is the definition of crazy.”
“Do you want to sleep in my bed with me?” he asks, and this time it’s me who shifts uncomfortably. If I was to ever be honest with myself, I would like to sleep next to him, but what red-blooded woman wouldn’t want that?