Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Daisy’s legs tensed, ready to bolt—but instinct stopped her.
Champagne-drunk and grinning like a boy wishing to play tag at recess, he didn’t want to catch her. He wanted to chase her.
So she refused to run.
Peter’s grin faltered. “What are you doing?”
Daisy crossed her arms, ignoring the way her heart hammered against her ribs. “Nothing.”
He blinked, thrown. “That’s not… You’re supposed to run.”
“Why? So you can chase me until we’re both exhausted? No thanks.”
He scowled. “But you have to run. Those are the rules.”
“Actually, they’re not.” But she did have to get out of this clearing, so she casually moved on, traveling slowly through the narrow path of the hedges where stone bridges and shallow walls curved ahead. Peter followed, but the way a child follows a butterfly.
His presence actually helped her. As long as he—a hunter—was with her, others were less likely to bother her. She feigned interest so he’d keep escorting her.
“How many tributes have you caught so far?”
“Three.”
“Three?”
He let out a cocky grin. “I’m the catch.”
She rolled her eyes at his arrogance.
“You’ll need to go a little faster to get the blood pumping,” he said, twirling and skipping every few steps.
“I’m not going to run from you.”
“Why not? If I catch you, we get to fuck.”
Stunned by his indifference, she turned on him. “Do you think every tribute here is dying to sleep with you?”
He staggered to a stop and cocked his head. “Me personally?”
“Any one of you. You’re literally hunting us.”
He grinned. “I know.”
Her expression fell. “You’re completely deranged.”
“Well, that’s rather hurtful. A man isn’t deranged just because he likes playing with pretty things.”
“We’re not things.”
“You’re getting paid to be here. Technically, you’re whatever I want you to be.”
She scowled at his entitlement. “Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance. I like you. You’re feisty.” His footsteps kept a leisurely pace behind her, never quite closing the distance, but never letting it grow.
“You know, most of them want to be caught,” he said, voice casual and friendly. “Two million pounds is better than one.”
She ignored him.
“It’s bad form not to run.”
“I’m not going to run from you.” The moment she did, he’d catch her.
The only way to avoid being caught by a man-child like Peter was to act disinterested.
“I’m a rather good lover.”
“Then why are you walking around alone like a lost boy?”
He laughed. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
“No, you’re not. Leave me alone.”
“Not until you fuck me.”
“Go away.”
“Can’t, I’m afraid. Rules of the game.”
“There is no rule that says you have to follow me.”
“One quick blowjob and I’ll leave you alone. But put up a little struggle to make it fun.”
A trellis of wisteria loomed overhead. She ducked beneath the purple blooms, swatting them away from her ruined hair, then turned and glared at him.
Something small with many legs scuttled across her shoulder, and she bit back a scream, flicking it to the ground. He laughed at her, hopping onto the stone wall with athletic ease, wandering alongside her from the elevated vantage.
They rounded a corner, and Daisy staggered to a halt. Cabanas, draped in silk curtains, loomed ahead.
“Ah, here we go.” Peter leapt off the stone wall and pranced closer to one of the beds, clutching a post and swinging around to face her. The sheer panels wafted in the breeze. “Shall we?”
Another cabana stood in the distance. From inside, wet rhythmic moans accompanied the steady creak of wood. A grunt. A gasp. The structures weren’t incredibly stable, and they rocked as a couple rolled from within.
The postmodern jazz continued to play. Daisy marched toward the empty cabana, and Peter grinned, but then frowned when she grabbed a fistful of silk curtain and yanked downward.
“You’re a destructive little thing.”
The thin fabric tore with ease. She ripped several thin strips and dropped to the ground, carefully wrapping her battered feet.
“Perfect. Stay just like that.” He unzipped his pants and stepped closer.
She looked up at him with such staunch disapproval that he stilled. She didn’t know what possessed her to stare at him so, but her instincts were spot on.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” She scowled, voice firm and maternal.
He slowly pulled up his zipper. “Why?”
“Can’t you see my feet are hurt and I just want to find the damn safe zone?”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, please,” she snapped, rising to stand. “You’re only sorry I won’t have sex with you.”
“Very true.”
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, rubbing her neck. “My throat is killing me.”
“I have something for that.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Shut. Up.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “A flask!” Slowly, he reached into his pocket and produced a thin, silver canister. “Here.”
She stared at the offering suspiciously. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “Pixie dust.”
“What the hell is pixie dust?”
“A punch—of sorts.”
She drew back and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t trust you.”
“That’s smart.”
It killed her to turn down the offer, but her first rule remained: trust no one. She shook her head.