Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Iris finally gave him her eyes, which he then held trapped in his own furious, burning gaze.
“Why won’t you enlighten me then?” she invited, her voice curt.
“Because you’re nothing to me. Nobody. Why should I reveal any part of who I am to you? What the fuck makes you think you’re so goddamned special? You’re nothing but a little wannabe journalist with zero credentials and even less experience. Added to that, you’re the spawn of one of the worst human beings to have ever befouled this planet with his existence. You’re literally the last person on earth I’d ever confide in.”
“You’re getting repetitive,” she told him. Refusing to let him provoke her again. “My father’s the devil, I’m Satan’s spawn, blah, blah… I heard the same boring rant not more than half an hour ago.”
There was a gleam of—was that appreciation?—in his eyes and for the first time since she’d arrived, his lips stretched into that famous Abbott grin.
“Very well done, Hughes. You won’t get very far with paper-thin skin in this industry.”
His praise confused her and she glared at him warily, not sure what to make of it.
“I’m tired. I think I’d like to go back to my room now.” Right now, even the oppressive hell that was her room seemed preferable to his disagreeable presence.
“Do you really prefer what you refer to as your prison cell over a sauna and my company?” His stare was contemplative, but his question without inflection, and Iris wasn’t sure if she’d offended him.
Nor did she care.
“Yes.”
God, that was such a lie. It was literally the second last place she’d rather be right now. But since this right here was the last place she wanted to be, she had no other choice than to return to her stifling, terrifying solitary confinement.
His eyebrows shot to his hairline.
“Very well. But you have to do some stretching when you get back to your room to prevent your back from seizing up again.”
Iris nodded and pushed to her feet. The movement was easy and relatively painless.
Honesty compelled her to admit, “I really do feel a lot better. Thank you.”
“You’ve already thanked me. Several times already, in fact. But I should be the one to thank you . . .” His voice was gruff, as if the words tasted foreign on his tongue. “For your help yesterday.”
“Like I had a choice,” she muttered, still salty about the damned forced labor. His beard twitched as his jaw clenched and his lips thinned. Gosh, for an actor, he was terrible at hiding his emotions. Then again, he clearly didn’t care if she knew he was pissed off with her or not. Probably preferred it if she did.
“You had a choice,” he reminded her. “I was happy for you to stay in your room, but you wanted to negotiate for better conditions.”
“All I got was a Wi-Fi password you were going to give me anyway.”
“Not my fault you’re a terrible negotiator.” He got up and lithely descended the single step down. “Anyway, the sandbags did the trick, the flooding slowed down to a trickle.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, a little distracted when he came to stand right beside her. Her nose was level with one flat brown nipple, and her eyes were riveted to those impressive pecs mere inches away. He was standing so close she could smell the faint hint of chlorine from the hot tub on his skin.
Her eyes tracked over the dark hair lightly sprinkled across his chest and abs… from where her rapt gaze helplessly followed the happy little trail wending its way down from his belly button—an innie, her favorite—to where it disappeared under the low-riding towel which looked in serious danger of slipping.
“For someone who accused me of needing an audience, you sure do seem to enjoy enabling my alleged thirst for attention by staring at me.” His low voice rumbled almost directly into her ear, and startled her into jerking her head up.
“Fuuuck!” he yelled.
“Ow!” she yelped at the same time.
Her abrupt move had sent the top of her head straight into his jaw and they both felt the impact keenly. They stepped away from each other, Iris rubbing her throbbing crown, while Trystan had his palm cupped over his jaw.
“Jesus, you have a hard head.”
“You have a harder jaw. You’d think that the beard would have provided some cushioning, but nope,” she complained. “Is my head bleeding? I feel like it’s bleeding.”
His hand dropped from his jaw and he reached out to cup her face. Alarmed, Iris jerked away from his touch.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me look,” he commanded with a scowl. Iris remained tense while he gingerly palmed her cheeks and angled her head downward. One of his hands continued to cradle her cheek, while the other parted the hair on her scalp. His touch was gentle, soothing, and seemed completely at odds with the abrupt man she knew him to be.