Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“I had several long hours to think last night,” I say, considering my words carefully. “Before I was sure that they would release you, I thought I might be compelled to give evidence against you.”
Dane’s jaw firms. “If it ever comes down to that, you will do what you have to do in order to protect yourself. If that means telling the police the truth about what happened so that you won’t be implicated, then you’ll do it.”
“No, I won’t.” I swallow hard, and then I say in a rush, “I think we should get married.”
His eyes flash, and his hand tightens like a vise around mine.
“I mean…” I fumble, unsure how to read his fierce expression.
Is he angry at my suggestion?
“I don’t want to have to testify against you,” I reason quickly. “If we’re married, they can’t make me, right? I’m not sure what the law is here in England. But that would protect both of us, wouldn’t it? If we’re husband and wife, you’ll be safe.”
“No.”
My heart stops at his flat refusal.
“What?” I ask on a puff of air, my chest constricting so tight that I can’t breathe.
His dark brows draw together in forbidding slashes. “You won’t marry me to protect me. You’ll marry me because you’re mine.”
“Oh.” My mind whirs. “Is that… Are you proposing?”
His lips pinch with distaste. “Of course not. You deserve a much better proposal than that. When I do propose, there will be no question of my intentions. And you will have only one answer for me.”
“But I just said I want to marry you.” His edgy mood is throwing me for a loop. I think I might’ve offended him with the way I worded things. “It’s a yes.”
His eyes turn stormy. “You want to for pragmatic reasons. That’s not how our marriage will work.”
He’s talking about our marriage as if it’s a foregone conclusion, but he still seems angry.
I study each sharp line of his tautly drawn features.
“It’s not only for pragmatic reasons,” I say quietly when I realize what he needs from me. “I wouldn’t say I want to marry you if I didn’t love you.” I place my hand on his cheek, and his jaw ticks beneath my palm. “I love you, Dane.”
His expression is almost feral with desire, but his eyes are cautious as they search mine. “After everything I’ve done to you?”
I think back to the dark day when I realized he was my stalker. He kidnapped me away to England. He held me in his family home against my will.
But he’s changed somehow. He’s still the man I fell for in Charleston, but I understand him more deeply now. Back in the studio he built for me in his manor, he dropped to his knees and apologized. He swore that he couldn’t live without me.
Then I learned what happened to his sister. I saw how his family treated him, how they tormented and warped him.
I’ve known that I’m still in love with Dane ever since we arrived in York, but I haven’t said it aloud yet.
“Even though I’m a murderer?” he rumbles in challenge. “You can love a killer?”
I trace the line of his cheekbone with my thumb, as though I can smooth away his tension.
“I made sure you got out of prison, didn’t I? I couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of my life without you. I love you, and I will marry you, Dane.”
His fingers tangle in my hair, capturing me in a firm grip. “You’re all I need in this life, Abigail.”
My heart soars. It’s not I love you, but I don’t require that to pledge myself to him forever. Dane’s affection for me is stronger than any words could express, and I feel the depth of his need for me in the way he tugs at my hair to pull me in for an almost savage kiss.
He consumes me, his tongue plundering my mouth without waiting for invitation. He knows that I belong to him. I sigh into him, demonstrating my utter devotion. I know now that there’s nothing he could do that would make me stop loving him. Some part of me must be sick and twisted, but the fact that he’s a murderer hasn’t dulled my craving for him.
I meet his kiss with hungry lashes of my tongue against his, and I dare to graze his lips with my teeth in a primal demonstration of my own claim over him. His low growl rumbles into my mouth and rolls lower through my body. My core heats for him, and my pulse begins to race.
I wouldn’t protest if he laid me down and fucked me right here in the ruins. When he’s touching me like this, we’re the only two people in the world. The tourists filtering into the gardens as the morning progresses don’t register in my mind. I’m wanton for him, wet and needy.