Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
What the hell?
How is it half-past six?
Normally, my alarm goes off at precisely six and that gives me enough time to jump into the shower and get ready for school.
Fuck!
With one swift motion, I toss off the covers and leap to my feet. As I do, a wave of nausea crashes over me. With a soft grunt, my hand flattens over my belly to still the sickness roiling inside.
It doesn’t work. If anything, the illness only gets worse as I stumble to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time before everything from last evening makes an encore appearance in the white porcelain.
Gross.
Once my belly has been completely emptied, I spend the next ten minutes dry heaving until tears sting my eyes. I grip the toilet basin as if hanging on for dear life.
Where the heck did that come from?
My limbs weaken as I stay hunkered in place, focusing on my breathing. As one minute stretches into two, and my stomach doesn’t continue to revolt, I rise unsteadily to my feet before lurching toward the long stretch of marble countertop to run the faucet. With my hands, I rinse the acidic taste from my mouth before scrubbing my teeth. My gaze gets drawn to the reflection in the mirror.
Sheesh. I look terrible. I’m pale and more drawn than normal. There’s a hollowed out look in my eyes.
Is this stress or am I coming down with something?
Like I need to deal with that on top of everything else.
I splash a few handfuls of cold water on my face before drawing in a deep, calming breath. Once all my emotions have been locked down tight, I head to the bedroom to dress. As I’m pulling the tartan skirt over my hips, my phone flashes with an incoming text.
I don’t have to glance at the screen to know who it’s from.
Five minutes. Then I’m coming up.
A growl of frustration builds in my throat. I’m tempted to hurtle my cell out the window. Unfortunately, destroying my electronic device won’t stop Kingsley from stalking up the stairs, tossing me over his shoulder, and carrying me kicking and screaming to the car.
My guess is that he would probably get off on it.
Not bothering to dignify the message with a response, I tuck my shirt into the loose-fitting skirt and pull up the socks before sliding my feet into chunky heels. Then I grab my backpack and head for the hallway. As I race through the second-floor gallery, I spot Kingsley lounging near the front door with his phone in hand.
His head is bent, a wayward lock of mahogany-colored hair slides over his eyes. My heart spasms as longing bursts inside me. Those feelings only irritate me further. Whatever emotions he’s sparked to life, I want them gone. I want to feel nothing where this boy is concerned.
When my phone chimes with a second text, I don’t bother to read it. Kingsley must hear the high-pitched sound as it echoes off the cavernous walls because his head jerks up. The way his gaze licks over me feels very much like a physical caress. One that heats me from the inside out. My breath stalls and I remind myself to exhale before descending the staircase. It would be an error in judgment to show him exactly how much he’s able to burrow beneath my skin.
He grabs the same travel mug from yesterday off the credenza before passing it to me along with a peanut butter and chocolate protein bar. The aroma of freshly ground arabica beans permeates the air and nausea explodes inside me again.
Instead of reaching for the offering, I shake my head and take a step in retreat as if to distance myself from the overpowering scent. “No, thank you.”
“You need to eat,” he says in a sharp tone. “You skipped dinner last night.”
“Actually,” I shoot back, “I ate with my mom.” The mere thought of food is enough to make me nauseous. My belly spasms and I’m half-afraid I’ll throw up all over the polished-to-a-high-shine marble floor. If I don’t get out of here and into the fresh air, I won’t be held accountable for what happens next.
“You look like shit,” he comments with a slight frown marring his handsome face.
“Thanks.” I suck in an unsteady breath before forcing it out again. “If you’re finished sweet talking me, can we leave? I don’t want to be late.”
He grunts in response as I stalk to the front door. I’m almost surprised when he doesn’t force the breakfast down my throat. Once outside, the chilly morning air slaps at my overheated cheeks, immediately settling something deep inside.
In silence, I slide into the passenger seat as Kingsley starts the engine. Avoiding eye contact, I focus my attention on the greenery that passes by as he pulls out of the subdivision and onto the main road. What happened last night sits uncomfortably between us. Maybe it’s easy for him to turn off his emotions and screw, but it’s not like that for me. I can’t have him inside my body and not feel something for him.