Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
It’s as if I haven't seen her at her lowest. Like I don't know what she's battling with. That's probably part of the reason she hates me so much. Because I see what she only wishes she could hide.
“Keep stalling, Princess.” I throw a pointed look at the clock on the wall over the TV. “The night is passing, and you already wasted enough time waiting for me to go to sleep before you tiptoed down here. This club you want to go to won't be open forever.”
“You honestly think I want to go anywhere with you?”
“Who asked whether or not you want to? What you want does not play a factor in this.”
Anger washes over her features before they harden. “What a surprise. Since when does what I want matter?” There I was, hoping the spoiled princess act would wear thin once she got a glimpse of how I grew up. I thought maybe she’d give up the woe is me, I’m so sheltered bullshit.
She looks me up and down, folding her arms like that will hide the way she trembles. Is it fear or resentment, or both? Probably both. “We can hardly stand being in the same house together. What makes you think we could handle a night out?”
“Once again, you're missing the point. I’m beginning to think it’s deliberate.” I take a second to savor her indignation. “This isn't about us going out to have fun together. I'll be going along to keep an eye on you.”
“You can't possibly imagine how humiliating and insulting it is to hear you say that. I am not a child.”
“You made a pretty good impression of it tonight. Did you think I didn't know something was up? Do you not realize how creaky that bedroom floor is to somebody downstairs?” She wouldn’t, of course, since I don’t go in that room. On the other hand, I can’t count how many times my stomach went icy at the first creak of those floorboards while I crouched down here.
“You sat down here in the dark, waiting for me? That's weird. Don't you know how weird that is?”
“Don't change the subject. You thought you were being slick, and you found out you weren't, and now you're pissed.”
“I'm pissed because I had to sneak around in the first place.”
“You absolutely did not have to sneak around. You could have approached this like an adult and said ‘hey, I want to go out’.”
“Right.” She lifts her chin, defiant as always. “Because you have been so accepting and willing to go along with things up until now. It's, like, your nature. You're just an easygoing sort of guy.”
I'm not going to pretend she's wrong. I would have shot down the idea before it finished tumbling from those pouty lips. Lips that keep catching my eye, thanks to the glossy red color she painted them—ripe, juicy cherries begging to be tasted.
Finally, I find my voice. “I compromised on the job search, didn't I?” Her mouth opens like she's ready to fight, but she soon realizes she doesn't have a leg to stand on because I'm right. “Why do you default to being sneaky?”
“Why do you default to being weird and secretive and telling me I'm not allowed to talk to the neighbors? Can you blame me for assuming you'd have a problem with this?”
“Can you blame me for assuming you'll have a problem with it? Or have you already forgotten what happened at the gas station?”
If her shoulders don’t stop lifting defensively, they’ll cover her ears. “You know I haven't. But you're the one who keeps telling me to heal, right?”
“There's a big difference between healing and throwing yourself into a situation that's bound to hurt you.”
“Do me a favor and let me decide what will hurt me, okay?”
Everything about her challenges me, but never as much as it does now. I haven't seen her dressed up like this in a long time—not since dinner with the now-dead Moronis. That might as well have been a lifetime ago. Even then, she was dressed for an evening at dinner with her father and his associate, not for a night out at a club. She wasn't showing so much skin, like the creamy expanse of cleavage revealed by a low-cut tank top. The smooth, lean legs encased in supple leather boots. A leather skirt so tight it's like a second skin.
The dark makeup around her eyes makes them appear emerald green as they flash and burn. Damn it, she wouldn't be such a smart ass with my cock shoved down her throat, would she?
The force of the desire behind that thought is staggering. What in the fuck am I thinking? Even if she wasn't as fragile as she is now—and she is, she can't hide it—I would never make a move like that. Not if I wanted to live to see tomorrow. Anybody but Callum Torrio's daughter.