Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
He doesn’t say anything to that, simply keeps staring at me, his chest harshly breathing, his mouth parted, his hands firmly planted by my head on the wall. I lose my patience and push at him again. “Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”
Nothing. Not one thing. No words. No change in his expression, except his intense stare that moves from one side of my face to another. And I just… I smack him. I smack him in the jaw. I smack him in his face. I think I even smack his chest. I’m raining down slaps on him as fast and as hard as I can and he’s letting me. Until I get all tired and run out of breath. Not that I stop but still my slaps don’t have the same force to them.
Which is when he takes charge.
He grabs my hands by the wrist and puts them up on the wall. I try to buck him off but he forces—literally forces—our fingers to thread together like we’re the greatest lovers that ever lived and curls his hands into fists, refusing to let go.
Still twisting between him and the wall, I snap, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you saying anything? What is—”
He licks his lips then and rumbles, “Looking at you.”
His voice is scratchy and seems to be coming from somewhere deep in his chest and I clench my belly at the effect it has on me. “What?”
Still roving his eyes over my face, he says, “Haven’t looked at you in three days. That’s the…”
Despite myself, I ask, “That’s the what?”
His chest jerks with a breath. Then, “That’s the longest I haven’t looked at you ever since you spilled your drink on me at the club.”
“That’s not…”
Oh, yeah it is true. Even though we’ve been apart many times after that night, he has seen me almost every single day. During those three weeks when I thought everything was over between us because he found out the truth about who I was, he still saw me working at the coffee shop. Even when we were in the process of moving into his house and he would avoid me, he told me he would still go to the coffee shop to catch a glimpse of me from afar. And ever since he left for the season, aside from those first two days where he was avoiding me, we’ve been Facetiming every single night.
My heart skips a beat in my chest at that, at his intense scrutiny but I try to be strong. I try to block out the need in his eyes, the fact that he’s so large and sweet-smelling, all strawberries and musk. I even try to block out how perfectly our hands fit each other like this, our palms joined, our fingers laced together like the fabric of our soul. I wonder why we never made love like that, holding hands, as he moved inside of me. That’s because we never made love. Or even if we did, it meant something else to him.
I take a deep breath and steel my spine even more. “That’s because you’re a crazy psycho who won’t leave me alone.”
He makes another round of my face with his dark, intense eyes before looking me in mine. Then, with a frankness I haven’t seen from him before, he rasps, “I am, yes.”
My heart pounds in my chest but I clench my teeth. “Were you stalking me?”
“No. Not really. I was walking over to your apartment when I saw you across the street. Decided to follow you.”
“That is stalking,” I inform him. Then, “How did you even find me?”
At this, his lips twitch and his finger flex against mine. “You made it hard for me, didn’t you. You did good, baby. You hid yourself well.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
He shakes his head, muttering, “Didn’t tell anyone where you were going. Ditched your phone. No ping on your credit card either. If it wasn’t for me going out of my fucking mind that I decided to give Isadora a try, it would’ve taken me fuck of a lot longer than three days to find you.” Then, he mutters, “Actually, it was more Isadora taking pity on me to finally tell me where you went.”
See, I said I was being smart. Although, my smartness only extended to the point where I told Isadora about his friend who owned a security company and I was afraid he’d find me if he wanted to. She did the rest. As in, come up with the plan to make my disappearance untraceable or rather difficult to pinpoint. She got her driver to drive me all the way to New York City, gave me cash so I didn’t have to use my credit card. I was desperate enough to borrow that money, which I’m going to pay back just as soon as I get back to Bardstown. And of course, she called ahead to have the apartment ready for me.