Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“I didn’t say that,” I say, and to my horror, my throat tightens. “God, you can be an ass.” Then my stomach flips and I barely make it to the toilet before I’m sick again. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth and close my eyes, not even bothering to stop the tears. This is miserable. It’s painful. And I want to let the floor swallow me up whole so I never have to look into his beautiful, terrible eyes again.
“Chandra, come on now,” he says softly. “I’ll get you something in case you’re sick again so you can rest in bed.” He helps me to my feet, and I walk on trembling legs back to the bedroom. I’m just weakened, I tell myself. It’s just the situation.
And I’m so damn sick, I can’t stand it.
“What the hell happened to you, anyway? Is it just a stomach virus or something?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Anyone you know sick?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Well, no.” We reach the bed and I sink onto the mattress, grateful for the softness but mad that he’s right. Like it or not, I can’t go home. Not in this condition. I lay on my back and close my eyes.
“How much did you have to drink?” he asks, correction in his tone.
“Dude. Like two drinks? Not enough to make me this sick.”
I can feel him glaring down at me even though I don’t open my eyes.
“Who served you?” he asks.
“The bartender. Duh,” I say, waving my hand in the general direction of the door. “Travis?”
“Yeah.” His voice is harsh, unyielding.
“Anyone sit near you?”
I blow out a breath and roll to my side. “For God’s sake. Who knows.” I’m sick, exhausted, and here even though I have no interest in being here, so my patience is wearing thin. Not to mention the fact that I just met a ghost from the past who’s making me feel happy and sad and wistful all at once. I can’t look at Noah and forget the painful scars I’ve long since buried. So when I respond, my voice is angrier than I intend. Tight. Snarky.
“And who the fuck cares if someone was sitting next to me? What the actual fuck? Leave me alone, Noah.”
His hand smacks my ass so hard and fast, it takes my breath away. My eyes fly open and I spin back around to look at him, which is a mistake since my belly clenches and aches.
“What the hell?”
He doesn’t look even the smallest bit regretful or sorry. “The girl I knew didn’t have a potty mouth.”
“You should talk!” I protest, but my ass is burning from the sting, and to my utter horror, I’m way turned on, which shouldn’t be possible in my miserable state. “You talk like a truck driver.”
He just frowns and shakes his head.
“Well, you can’t just spank me,” I say, rubbing my ass. His gaze travels to where my hand rubs, and he swallows and lets out a breath.
“I smacked your ass. You’re a little girl who’s in way over your head.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” I protest through gritted teeth. “And I’m not yours to punish. That’s how we got in trouble in the first place.”
I don’t mean to say it. I shouldn’t have.
He leans down and even though his eyes still smolder, when he touches me, it’s gentle and sweet.
“Get some sleep,” he says. His voice hardens. “You’re not leaving. If you try? I will take you straight over my lap and give you a real spanking. If you don’t believe me? Do it.”
There’s nothing but sincerity in that gaze, and I know it to be true. I don’t understand how this can both infuriate and excite me all at the same time, but it does. God, it does. My pulse races even as I clench my jaw.
He turns away from me and fiddles in the room, gathering blankets and clothes. I feel better now. My stomach has settled down, and I hope the worst of it has passed. Now that my stomach is slightly better, I’m so tired. It’s warm and comfortable in here. I try to look around the room to see where he’ll sleep, but my eyes are so heavy, I can barely keep them open.
He approaches me with a blanket and drapes it over my body. “You need anything else?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m good,” I whisper.
And as I float off to sleep, I swear I hear him say, “you always were.”
Chapter Four
Axle
I watch as she sleeps. I can’t help it. Her dark lashes flutter on her cheek as her eyes stay closed. Her skin’s as dark and creamy as milk chocolate, her thick black hair shiny and full. Her parents—strict, demanding, and ruthlessly conservative—hailed from India. Though she was born and raised in America with not a trace of an Indian accent, she’s a true exotic beauty, almost out of place wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She should be dressed in saris of emerald and ruby, magnificent swaths of luxurious fabric.