Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I glance down and confused, reach for a raisin scone. Distractedly picking off a piece, I pop it in my mouth, but it crumbles to ash on my tongue. I swallow hard, set the scone back down, and push to my feet. I’m done here.
I start for the door, but his hand shoots out and closes around my wrist—firm, not painful, but strong enough to stop me dead. A gasp tears from my throat, my skin tingling where he holds me, a mix of surprise and something else that I don’t want to name.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, spinning to face him, my voice low, almost breaking as he stays seated, leaning forward, his grip unrelenting.
“Why are you fighting so hard to stay?” he asks, his voice soft, probing, like he’s peeling me open. “That cottage is a dangerous wreck. It’ll take years to fix, and for what? If you make it through the summer and autumn, you will freeze in the winter. Your grandmother used to huddle under a few blankets in front of a two-bar heater. There are other places in the city, Lauren. Houses that you can actually live in. Why cling to this one?”
His words burn, trashing my home like it’s nothing, and I wrench my wrist free, rubbing the spot where his touch lingers, hot and throbbing. “That’s none of your business,” I hiss, stepping back, my pulse hammering. “I said I’m not selling, and I meant it. That’s all you need to know.”
I turn to leave again, the room’s light blinding now, but he rises smoothly, quickly, his frame blocking my path. My heart stumbles, and I back up, my heel catching on the Aubusson rug’s edge. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice wobbling as he looms closer, all cedar scent and quiet power.
“I grate on you,” he says softly, almost to himself.
“No kidding.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re overbearing and you don’t listen?”
He smiles. “Sure, it has nothing whatsoever to do with sexual attraction.”
“What?” I explode furiously. That he should know. Oh! My! God!
“You don’t feel it?” he asks. “I’m wrong?”
My breath stops; his words are like a thunderclap that leaves me stunned. My tongue trips over itself, stuttering. “Yes, you are wrong. I—I actually detest people who are so full of themselves,” I manage. “But if that’s what gets you through the night, go ahead and think it, but don’t bother me.”
I start to leave, heart pounding, but his fingers brush my arm again, lighter, and goosebumps flare, and my body betrays me. I stop and turn to him, my glare lethal. “I really don’t like the way you touch me. Don’t do it again, or we’ll take this to court.”
The corners of his lips tilt with amusement. “How American? You keep threatening legal action. I know you’re not joking, but I’m wondering… have you really no interest in me at all?”
I blink, his words twisting in my head. “I don’t know how to communicate my lack of interest in you in any clearer way,” I snap, voice shaking with frustration. I move to leave again, but his hand closes around my arm—not hard, but firm—and for a split second, lust spikes through me. I look into his eyes, gray and dangerous, and my heart races, knowing I’m teetering on an edge.
Part of me screams to deny it, to run, but another part—a treacherous, whispering part—knows the truth. I pull my arm free, and he lets go, but my feet won’t move, pinned by his gaze, by the heat curling in my belly, between my legs. He steps closer, closing the space, and my breath stops entirely. “What are you doing?” I whisper, voice barely audible, my hands trembling.
He looks deep into my eyes, unblinking. “You can leave anytime,” he says softly, a challenge. My hand shoots up, pressing against his chest to keep him back, and I feel it—his heart racing under my palm, matching the wild thud of mine. His breath brushes my face, warm and close.
“It’s not just me, is it?” he whispers.
I look up, caught in his gaze, and for a moment, I waver, strength draining. But then it hits me—Cecelia’s warning. Her voice echoes in my mind: He’s a womanizer. He’ll do anything to get your land. The spell shatters. This isn’t why I’m here. I came to change, to build something real, not to fall for his games. He’s a distraction, nothing more.
I start to pull away, resolve hardening, but his hands curl around my waist, warm and manly, sending a shock through me.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says. “Go ahead. Stop me if you don’t want me to.”
I hear his words loud and clear, and everything inside me wants to move to stop him, but then, before I can react, his lips are on mine.
They’re soft, not forcing, giving me a chance to push back or give in, but I betray myself once again and do not. He tastes clean, faintly sweet, and goosebumps ripple across my skin, my body screaming yes while my mind yells no. I try to speak, to stop this, but he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing mine, and the ground tilts, my legs become unsteady, and I reach out to hold onto him because at that moment I’m utterly convinced that the world has stopped turning on its axis, the ground has given out underneath my feet…