Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“I will.”
My grandmother insists that I walk him out, and it’s only when we’re outside, with the town square bustling with its usual Saturday morning activity, that I remember one important thing.
He’s still the enemy, Scar.
Heads turn as we walk past familiar faces, but Lykan doesn’t seem to notice this. I can sense his gaze focused entirely on me, and my heart hammers against my chest when he clasps my shoulders and turn me to face him.
“If you’re worried about your grandmother—”
It’s as if he’s read my mind, and I...I just don’t know what to feel about this. Why is it so easy for him to know my thoughts?
“You don’t have to be.”
“But you threatened to shut down her business.”
“Which won’t happen at all as long as you keep your end of the bargain.”
He makes it sound so frustratingly easy, but we both know it’s not.
“Why are you even here?” I ask helplessly.
“I wanted to introduce myself to your grandmother.”
Like any “normal” fiancé would do, but we both know he’s not that either.
At all.
“I just don’t understand what you want.”
“I already told you, Ms. Hood. I want you.”
“But you could have anyone—”
My words stutter to a stop when he suddenly steps closer, and I find myself backing up until I feel brick against my shoulders. We’re in a small alcove between buildings, partially hidden from the street. “Is it so hard to believe I might genuinely desire you? That I might find your particular combination of innocence and fireirresistible?”
My breath catches in my throat as he braces one arm against the wall beside my head. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” I say, hating how breathless I sound, “but I’m not a toy.”
“No,” he agrees, his gaze dropping to my lips. “You’re much more interesting than a toy.”
And then he’s kissing me, right there in the street, in front of anyone who happens to walk by, and I just can’t breathe.
His kiss is mercilessly possessive and hot, his mouth crashing onto mine with the kind of command that should terrify me.
Maybe it does, and that’s why I can’t even move or think, and all I can do is feel how strong his chest is against mine. And when he pulls me even closer, and my breasts start straining and swelling, I feel the contact all the way down to where I’m burning. There’s this wild, melting heat pooling between my thighs, and I hate that I want more of it. And of him.
His tongue finds mine, and my knees give out, but he’s already holding me up, one arm around my waist and the other braced above my head like a cage.
I feel like I should start pushing him away, but I just can’t. Not when he’s kissing me like he hungers for me endlessly. Not when he’s kissing me like he owns me...and like I own him, too.
My fingers dig into his shirt, but what I really want is his hands. Under my shirt. On my skin. I bite my lip, afraid I’ll say something I can’t take back.
Like...
Please. Touch me. Please.
Get a grip, Scar!
I try so, so desperately to remind myself that this can’t be right. He’s not my fiancé. He’s my blackmailer. I’m not supposed to be his, so why...
Why do his kisses make me feel like melting?
And when he finally lifts his head—
Aaaargh.
I’m out of breath, and hearing myself pant is the most embarrassing sound is just...
“Do you understand now...why I want you?”
Lykan gently brushes my cheek with his knuckles.
“I am the only one who’ll be able to make you feel like this—”
No, no, no.
“And so it is with me.”
Lykan takes a step back, and a confusing sensation of emptiness wells up inside of me as I watch him straighten his cuffs.
“I need you to accompany me tonight. I’ll take care of everything—”
“What if I have plans?”
Lykan’s smile is slow and lethal, but I am absolutely immune to it.
Really.
“Cancel them.”
Oh, the arrogance of this sheikh is not hot.
Really.
“You...you can’t just order me around like one of your employees—”
“Of course not.” His lips curve in a smirk. “I’m ordering you around like my fiancée. So be a good girl, habibti, and make sure you are ready by seven.”
Lykan
My Scarlette steps out of the apartment building and I forget how to breathe.
It’s a low-cut red satin corset with lace panels at the side, cinched to show off her absurd little waist. The skirt’s a single layer of chiffon, shorter in the front, scandalously sheer when backlit, and there’s a tiny silk cape draped over her shoulders, hood up, framing her flushed face and shining eyes.
She’s dressed like a storybook fantasy, but the look on her face makes it seem like every step she makes is torture. She’s gripping her tiny red clutch like it’s her only shield against the world, and a blush steals over her cheeks when she finally notices me waiting by the limo.