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)
Nope. Hard pass.
I go to step back into the elevator, but the doors have already slid shut. Fuck. I hit the button rapidly, hoping the doors would open.
“Have you been avoiding me, Shortcake?” His voice carries through the small hallway, and when I turn toward him, those striking blue eyes, shadowed with dark circles, challenge me to run.
The answer to his question is absolutely yes. But it’s his direct and insufferable challenge that has me second-guessing myself on heading straight into the elevator. This is my fucking studio. Not his. I won’t back down just because this asshole plans on ruining my fucking life.
I step toward him, scowling. “You look like a squatter at my door. Leave before I call someone to remove you,” I say as I scan my key card to open my studio.
Stupid fucking idiot.
All of my anger and problems rise the moment I see him.
The moment he’s close enough for me to breathe in his fucking intoxicating cologne.
He’s clearly the problem.
I’m pissed and not surprised when the door doesn’t close behind me quickly enough, and he follows me in. I turn on the lights and the heater. The beautiful night sky is visible through the skylight.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I say matter-of-factly.
“You always seem to have plenty to say.” I can hear the hint of humor in his tone, but it’s lacking the life it once had. It offers me a slight sense of satisfaction to know that he looks as shitty as I feel.
“What are you most angry about?” he asks.
“Angry about?” I ask in disbelief, swinging around to face him. “Where the fuck does the list begin, asshole? You not only accuse me of making creepy little statues, but you then escalate it to accusing me of murder. Shouldn’t I be questioning whether you fucking her was the catalyst to her death?”
He smirks. “Are you insinuating my sex is that good?”
“You’re such a pig.”
He shrugs, and I know joking about the dead isn’t so fun, even for him. “I didn’t touch her. I didn’t kiss her. And I told her nothing more would come from it once we left the exhibition,” he says as if I need his explanation. I don’t.
“Okay, and why are you telling me this?” I question. “I clearly don’t give a fuck.”
“You clearly do, or she wouldn’t have ended up dead.”
I shake my head. “It would be so easy for you to pin all of this on me, wouldn’t it? You’d fucking love it. What a catch that would be for you, pinning all of this shit on an Ivanov.”
“It has nothing to do with your family name and everything to do with you.” He moves closer. “I came here tonight because you’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, I’ve been keeping my distance, which you should be doing too. Don’t you get it? We don’t fit. You’re torturing yourself if you actually think anything can come of this.”
He steps into my space, and my back hits one of the shelves. He hangs an arm over my head and leans into me. I don’t back down as I reluctantly look up at him. “Looks like I haven’t been the only one thinking about us, Shortcake,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to my shoulder and sighing in exhaustion.
I’m so stunned by the action that I don’t know what to do. He looks half his size as he leans against me, and I can feel his weariness as if it were an extension of my own.
“What are you doing?” I ask, unwilling to move. It has to be a trick. He’s cornering me. He probably has a recording device on him. Maybe now is my chance to kill him? Is it too soon? Too reckless? Too… much?
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.
I hate the way my heart flutters and my arms itch to wrap around him.
No. This is not okay. I cannot be this mad at him for over a month, only for it to dissipate into calmness just because he says one sweet thing. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.
“Accusing me of murdering people seems like a strange way to show it,” I grit.
“I thought you’d be the least bit flattered,” he says against my neck, his warm breath sending a shiver through me.
“Most women aren’t flattered by the prospect of murder, Braxton. You need to up your game if that’s your pickup line.”
“But you’re not most women, are you, Shortcake?” He raises his head and cups my cheek. I fucking hate the spell he casts on me. I’m scared to fall into this trap again, even though my body is already melting into him. But when I look into his blue eyes, I can see how tired he is. And there’s a peace I feel with him despite everything else that’s going on in the outside world.