Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“My life wouldn’t be in danger in the first place if you hadn’t blackmailed me into marriage and killed a man in front of me.”
“Gia,” he chided, opening a cabinet and taking out a tall glass. “Please. You’re a smart girl. That guy was dead long before you entered the room.” He filled the glass with tap water and set it on the counter in front of me. “And I already told you, I’m tying up a few loose ends, and then the Irish will leave us alone. Go upstairs.”
“No.” I hugged my shoulders, my fingernails caked with mud and blood. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I knocked off the water. Glass shattered everywhere.
He studied me intently. “What can I do to make you come upstairs with me?” He was brusque but not as callous as usual.
We’d reached an impasse. Either I handed him to the authorities and watched his entire empire—and likely my own life—implode, or I struck a deal with him.
“You can tell me why you scouted me when I finished college, why you stalked me beforehand, why you kept me close when I tried to leave so many times, why you loathe me so much.” I held on to the wall, my knees trembling. “You can tell me who you killed, why you killed them, and how you plan on getting away with it,” I continued, feeling the adrenaline slowly evaporate from my body, like mist. “And you can tell me why our lives are in danger, what you did to the Irish Mafia to make us targets. And…and your name.” Pause. “Your real name. I want to know it. Not all of us can see in the dark, Tate.”
There was barely any space between us at all, I realized. The air sizzled between us, soaked with something foreboding. I was going quite mad, I thought, when our breaths danced together, our heat and the scent of our sweat colliding. Because I longed to feel his lips on mine again. His rough finger pads peeling off my wet coat.
“And if I tell you everything, will you stay?” His gaze landed on my ivory pearl choker, and a rush of heat melted between my legs. I knew, with terrifying certainty, that I’d let him twist that choker and take my breath if it suited him.
Because I wanted him more than I hated him.
Always had.
“Y-yes.”
“No name, though,” he bartered. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“First, promise me that I’m safe here.”
Tate smiled, his hand resting on my neck, right on my necklace. My heart picked up. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d have let the coyotes do their job in the woods. Less evidence to clean, less paperwork. No, Apricity. You’re safe.”
I followed him up the stairs, leaving my common sense behind me.
Thirty minutes later, I was lying inside a claw-foot bath, the steaming water thawing my icy fingers and toes. The sensation returned to them bit by bit as they tingled back to life.
Miraculously, I found my favorite peony and blush shower oil in the en suite bathroom, a welcome surprise, and was now postponing the frank conversation that awaited me beyond the door. I tipped my head up on the edge of the bath, sighing as I stared at the ceiling.
A dead body lay somewhere on the grounds of this estate.
A soft rap came from the door. I groaned, closing my eyes.
“Apricity.” Tate’s voice, dark and smooth, slipped like smoke beneath the door.
“Don’t you dare come in.”
“You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
My stomach gurgled, protesting the lie. I hadn’t eaten anything other than the small chicken Caesar wrap around eleven.
“Even if you weren’t lying, you still need to eat. You are mine now, and I want you well fed.”
I bit my lip down. I didn’t want to accept his offer.
“I also brought booze.”
I sighed, slinking deeper into the water so that only my head was afloat. “Put it in and sod off.”
He opened the door and ambled inside, still in his suit, which was filthy from riding a horse in the woods and butchering someone. He held a wooden bathtub tray and lowered it to rest on the lips of the tub.
There was handcrafted sushi and a Tajín-rimmed margarita. My mouth watered. I was dizzy with hunger. And tired. Bone-deep exhausted.
He stood back, surveying the top of my head. I snapped the chopsticks apart, trying to ignore him. It was a bit difficult to work the chopsticks and manage to keep my sternum below water to protect my modesty.
I brought a piece of a rainbow roll to my mouth. “Did you order in?”
“No. I have a private chef who lives on the grounds.”
How could said chef miss me running then? Or witness Tate’s wrongdoing, for that matter?
“He lives in the pool house across the backyard,” Tate read my mind.
Encouraged by the fact that I still hadn’t hurled any sharp objects at him, he sauntered to a vanity chair opposite to the bath and sat on its edge, bracing his elbows on his knees.