Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
He moved his hand up my side and under the hem of my top. I reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling it back down just before he reached my breast. I was struggling to breathe, and my heart was racing, but I still had my wits.
“Don’t. We can share a bed, but don’t,” I told him.
I expected him to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he dropped his hand. I should be feeling relief, not disappointment.
“Whatever you want,” he replied. The gentleness in his tone didn’t make this easier. If he’d acted angry or demanding, perhaps I could fight off my attraction to him.
I turned to see him walking over to the bed.
“Do you have a preference on the side you sleep on?” he asked me as he pulled back the covers on the left side.
My gaze was back on his tattoo as it shifted with his movement. From here, it looked like a shattered clock. The shadows made it appear sinister, which seemed strange for what it was. There were pieces of glass scattered around it.
“If you want to see it up close, I won’t bite,” he said.
I swung my eyes back up to meet his. He wasn’t mocking me, nor was he smirking at having caught me ogling him again.
“Is it a broken clock?” I asked, still unsure if that was what I was seeing.
He nodded. “It is.”
I was intrigued.
“What does it mean?”
It had to symbolize something. One didn’t randomly choose a shattered clock with broken glass for a tattoo.
“It was a reminder at the time that I got it, but over the years, it changed. Became something else. I’m not the same man I was when I had it done.”
That didn’t answer my question, and while I should be mentally planning my escape, I was fascinated with his tattoo.
“So, what did it mean then, and what does it mean now?” I prodded, wanting to understand him. The part of me that wanted to strip naked and crawl in that bed with him needed some validation, although the answer to my questions could be another reason for me to run out that door the moment I had a chance.
“When I got it, I thought I was in love. I’d proposed to her, and she said no. This was my reminder that time didn’t change our fate, and I had no control over it.”
He’d been in love once. I wished I hadn’t known that. Why had I asked? It felt like someone had reached into my chest and was squeezing my lungs. That shouldn’t hurt so much. This man was not for me.
“And now?” My voice cracked slightly, and I winced.
“That you can achieve too much and not really achieve anything of worth. Not to be a fool and an overachiever.”
Did that mean he didn’t love her now? Was it someone in his youth? He’d proposed, it was unlikely she was his first love or a teenage romance. He was only twenty-nine now. How long ago could it have been? Not long enough. Was he waiting on her still?
I cleared my throat and stood straighter. I would not let him see that I cared about this woman he’d loved so much that he wanted to marry her and got a shattered clock on his body permanently because of her rejection.
“Seems an odd thing to put on yourself. I don’t see how a shattered clock represents either of those things.” My tone was snarky, and I knew it.
I was jealous. Plain and simple.
I was running away from this man, but clearly, I cared about who his heart had belonged to.
“You’ve never read The Great Gatsby, I take it?” he replied as I reached the right side of the bed to jerk back the covers with more force than necessary.
“Of course I’ve read The Great Gatsby,” I replied sharply.
Then, I paused and let that sink in. The broken clock. My heart felt heavy now, and my throat tightened. Did he mean to tell me that he had loved some woman the way Jay Gatsby did Daisy? That was hard to hear. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“I see,” I said tightly, climbing into the bed with my back to him.
I pulled the covers up to my chin and stared at the wall. Sebastian had a Daisy in his life. I’d never stood a chance. No woman could replace a Daisy. God, what was wrong with me? I was about to freaking cry over someone I had already decided I had to get away from. Someone I couldn’t trust.
I felt the weight of the bed shift as he sat down on the other side.
What kind of woman had had his love and not wanted it? Had she known about his life and not been able to accept it either? Had he lost her because he was in the Mafia? It was the only thing I could think of that would make any female tell him no. Had he gotten down on one knee? Told her he loved her? That he couldn’t live without her?