Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
His face gives me nothing as he stalks over and takes me by the hips. I yelp in surprise, pushed off-balance, and I stumble back against the fireplace. The stones are rough and hard and hurt my back and he pins me there, one massive hand grabbing my wrists and holding them above my head. He’s breathing hard and fast, a note of chaotic rage playing across his beautiful lips, and he looks like a handsome lion about to lose control. I’m terrified, but when his knee presses against my legs, a pang of desire burns deep into my core.
“You will not make this difficult for me, do you understand, angel? I need to hurry now. I have plans to put in motion and people to protect. Nobody knows what I’ve done, not yet, and if I’m careful, I can get them out safe.”
“Get who out safe?”
“You don’t have to worry about that. But for now, you will stay here, in this room, and you will be quiet.”
“What if I’m not? What if I scream?”
“This house is ten thousand square feet on ten acres of private waterfront property.” His lips bend forward, grazing against my ear. “Nobody’s coming.”
My chest rises and falls rapidly, brushing against him, and I want him to bite down. I want him to rip out my throat, or I want him to kiss me, or I want to throw myself out a window, except I’m worried about what he might do to my mother and I have a baby to protect.
“You can’t just leave me here.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
He releases my wrists and steps away. His eyes hold me, a strange, pleading obsession in them, before he turns his back. “You won’t ever thank me for this and I won’t deserve it. I’ve put you in more danger than you can ever know. But marrying you wasn’t the mistake.”
I rub my wrists as he stalks from the room. The doors slam shut. I count to fifty in my head, trying to steady myself, wondering what he means. Marrying me wasn’t the mistake? But does he mean fucking me then?
I bite my lip to keep from crying, storm to the doors, and try to fling them open.
Locked.
I yank hard. I slam my shoulder against them. I kick, punch, and finally, I start screaming until my throat hurts.
Connor wasn’t kidding. Nobody’s coming.
I check the windows but they’re all a huge drop and I don’t feel confident I can survive it without hurting the baby. There’s no escape in the enormous, gorgeous bathroom either, though I take a long drink from the tap. There’s no hidden hatchway in the closet, no secret path that might steal me away from this place. Only a lovely room like a gilded prison.
I throw myself onto the couch, afraid to touch the bed, and take stock of my situation.
Connor Maguire forced me into a marriage I don’t want, threatened my mother into keeping her mouth shut, and locked me in a bedroom in some creepy riverfront mansion.
All because I’m pregnant.
I don’t want to start crying again. I wipe my face, fighting against the helplessness that floods me. What kind of man could convince a Catholic priest to go along with that sham? What kind of monster would treat the mother of his future child like this?
I knew Connor was terrifying. Everyone at WashCo whispers about him, but I assumed those were all rumors.
He’s handsome and rich. He built a business from nothing and grew it into a big, profitable enterprise. I assume everyone’s only jealous of what he accomplished.
But what if they’re right?
What if when Nadia winks at me and says we’re doing some shady business… she’s not kidding?
Or when my manager once said I’d better learn how to read with my eyes closed… or when Rick sometimes grumbles about numbers not adding up right… or the overheard snippets of scared whispering in the break room.
I don’t know how long I’m alone. There’s no clock and I’m too trapped in my own head to keep track. I’m deep in a self-pity spiral when there’s a bang in the hall followed by the sound of the doors unlocking.
I have a few seconds to leap to my feet, the irrational thought that I might charge and escape jolting into my brain, only for it to immediately fizzle as Connor enters followed by two more massive men in dark suits.
My husband steps aside, sweeping a hand toward me. The older of the newcomers pauses just in through the doors, his face twisted in an expression caught between rage and dismay.
The younger one throws back his head and laughs. “Holy fuck, Connor, I thought you were kidding! But there’s seriously a girl here!”
“My wife, asshole. You will respect her.”
“I don’t even know her name. Jesus Christ.” He wipes his eyes, grinning at me. “Hello there, Mrs. Maguire. My name’s Marcus. I’ve known your husband since long before he became the charmer he is now.”