Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
All the music slammed back.
All the chaos and smells and…ill-advised courage.
Tearing my gaze from the demigod as he returned to glowering at the man beside him, I locked eyes with the pretty bartender and yelled far too loudly, “I’m breaking up with my boyfriend, and we need shots.”
Sam went rigid beside me.
The girl’s brown eyebrows shot to her pixie haircut.
And I swayed on the spot as the demigod suddenly looked past his companion and locked gazes with me.
Grey.
His eyes are dark grey.
He froze like I had.
Froze as if he smelled me from there and decided in a single moment that he very much wanted to eat me alive.
I didn’t know if I wanted to run away as fast as possible or offer myself up on a silver platter.
“What the fuck is going on, Ily?” Sam’s fingers dug into my upper arms, spinning me to face him. My nape prickled, hating that I couldn’t see the man who made my instincts sing with deep, dark warnings.
“You’re breaking up with me?” His face contorted into something scary instead of English charm. “What. The. Fuck?”
The bartender placed a long wooden board next to us with six shots of amber liquor. I looked from Sam’s rage to the shot.
I made the choice to administer some liquid courage.
Snatching two glasses, I tossed them back, winced at the fire, gasped, choked, coughed, coughed some more, then sucked in a wheezy breath.
“I know it’s your birthday, Sam, but…I’ve given you a blowjob, so I think it’s only fair that you give me a divorce.”
Chapter Three
…………………………………
Henri
MY EARS RANG, COMPLETELY DROWNING out what the Master Jeweler was saying.
Blowjob?
Divorce?
Who the hell was this girl, and why did her voice pierce through all the other noise in this godforsaken club, somehow hijacking my rotten heart? That same fucking heart tripped over its pathetic self the moment I caught her eyes. I couldn’t tell what colour they were, but the disco ball above granted the illusion that they flickered with purples and blues.
I had a sudden urge to shove away all the people between me and the object of my dangerous fascination and demand to know who she was.
But that would be stupid.
Beyond fucking stupid.
And it wasn’t her that caused my chest to seize or my perfectly pressed pants to grow unnervingly tight.
It was this.
This assignment.
This task—given to me by my half-brother who’d had years learning how to tame his tendencies—only to throw me into those same tendencies without any boundaries.
Another droplet of sweat ran down my back.
If I couldn’t even handle standing here talking, how was I going to handle everything else?
“Ward?”
The Master Jeweler quirked a manicured dark blond eyebrow at me. Roland pressed his elbow into my side, ripping me back to the suave, despicable man currently watching me with questions in his knowing eyes. Ever so slowly, the Master Jeweler turned on the balls of his glossy shoes and peered at the girl who’d sent a bolt of sick electricity to my chest with a single glance.
Her hair hung heavy and straight, kissing her shoulders with an almost impossible shade of sapphire-black. It had to be fake. No one had hair like that.
I balled my hands as my gaze followed the Master Jeweler’s, both of us studying the sweep of her shoulder blades—visible beneath the flimsy strings of her navy top—following the strong line of her spine (with the hint of a tattoo) down to the swell of her ass, hidden beneath a gold-pink skirt.
My throat closed as my gaze drifted lower, drinking in the long expanse of tanned legs, snagging on silver ankle boots with savagely sharp heels.
With a low chuckle, the Master Jeweler turned to face me, nodding appreciatively. “This club attracts sparkling gems. It’s a great place to fill a jewelry box full of pretty things.” His flat blue gaze snapped to Roland. “Don’t you agree, Olivan?”
Roland gave him an oily smile. “Oh, definitely, bijoutier. I myself have been lucky enough to collect quite a few bijoux on my hunts here.”
My ears perked on the French words for jeweler and jewels.
I was fluent from birth—thanks to my mother being half-French.
“Pourquoi ne pouvons-nous pas parler franchement?” (Why can’t we speak plainly?) I crossed my arms, my voice bored and borderline disrespectful. I did my best to hold the stare of the Master Jeweler, but the girl down the bar let out a squeak as the man she was with grabbed her roughly around her biceps.
I stilled.
Everything inside me quietened, heightened, and salivated.
Violence.
It always brought out the worst in me.
“Say it again. Go on. I dare you!” the man yelled in her face, shaking her. “You really want to do this? Here? Right now? When we’re on holiday in fucking Paris?”
“I know it’s not ideal, Sam, but…I’ve reached my limit. I just…I can’t do it anymore.” The girl’s profile came into view as she squirmed in the guy’s grip. “Just let me go, and we’ll leave. We’ll go somewhere quiet where we can talk and—”