Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“My book, please?” I nod to it, and he hands it over. As I grab it, my fingers brush his. It’s like an electric shock. I take in a sharp breath, then snatch the book from him because I don’t want him to see any signs of how he unsettles me. But, fuck me, do I want his hands all over my body again.
He’s studying me, that smirk creeping up again as he begins to eat the cold remains of my pancakes. He’s eating like a caveman, which most likely means he hasn’t eaten all day. “Would you like me to order you more?” I offer.
He raises a brow at me but doesn’t bother answering. He just continues to eat my leftovers. We sit in silence, and I can’t help when my gaze flicks to where his jacket is covering the ominous statue. I can’t believe he actually brought it with him. I never thought he’d do that. Perhaps I was too confident about my little secret.
He should be thankful that he gets to admire them, let alone hold them. Actually, I don’t think he realizes how lucky he is. He could never afford any of my sculptures, but in my opinion, these are the most priceless pieces I’ve made.
I focus on my book again and read another two pages before he speaks because Lord forbid when a woman remains silent and ignores a man to where he has to entertain himself.
“This needs to stop,” he warns, pointing the fork to his jacket.
“Okay…” I say, flicking to another page.
“I’m serious. I know it’s you, Hope. I may not have the proof, but it’s you. You’re digging yourself deeper and deeper, past a point where Mommy and Daddy won’t be able to get you out.”
I still don’t look up from my book. “If you say so. You’re starting to sound a lot like you care, Detective. It’s very unlike you.”
He’s watching me in that intense way that he does, setting my skin alight. It’s like a caress that demands my attention, and I know the moment I give in, I’m a goner. So I refuse to be put under his fucking spell.
I saw Hawke briefly since our last altercation. Although he’s promised to remain silent, anyone who knows him well enough knows he’s a liability when it comes to keeping secrets. But if he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll step in. He even questioned me as to how successful we might be at getting the detective to accept a bribe. That’s very fucking unlikely. And if we try, we’ll just be tipping our hand. And besides, I have no interest in playing that kind of game with him.
I don’t want anyone else playing with my toy, so I shut Hawke and the conversation down.
My prey. My game.
Even if my family might chastise me for it later, I know they love me. We protect one another.
I look up at him when he grabs my cup of coffee and takes a sip. I know he does it to test me, but I just put down my book and bring my hands together on top of the table.
“Do you have family?” I ask.
He seems surprised by the question, but he masks it within seconds. “Yes.”
“So why don’t you spend time with them?”
He raises a perfect brow. His tattooed hand comes to rest on the table as he leans toward me. I don’t like how little space he leaves between us, but I don’t move from my position either.
“And how would you know if I spend time with them or not, Shortcake?”
“Because you’re always trying to get into my pants when you aren’t working.” I bat my lashes at him.
Biting back a smile, he says, “Correction. I’ve tried getting in your dress once, and it worked.” He winks. “I remember those sweet moans that left your lips and all the barbaric things your body demanded I give you.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. I lift the book up again, trying to block him out so he doesn’t see how flustered he makes me. I adjust my glasses. “Yes, I guess you do.”
“When do you go back to London?” he asks, changing the subject. It’s an obvious indication that he’s following my schedule. He probably knows the answer before I give it to him, so I don’t see any point in hiding it.
“Tonight.”
He lifts his wrist and checks the time. “My car is outside. Do you need a lift?”
“No, I have a driver,” I tell him distractedly, trying to reread the same line in my book. I just can’t focus when this man is so fucking close. I can feel the heat of his breath. Suddenly, his foot nudges mine under the table, and I’m filled with a hot flush. Then his hand finds my knee.
“The drunk one?” he asks innocently.