Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
His eyes shift to my bare leg for a prolonged second as a smile grows behind the neck of the amber bottle paused at his lips. “Well, I like the name Scarlet, but not nearly as much as I like the way you say it.”
“And how do I say it?”
“Gah!” he says with exasperation as he presses his beer to his chest, head thrown back. “Just like that. Don’t stop talking. I could listen to you forever.”
I laugh, a real, honest, spontaneous laugh that feels so damn good. “My housemate doesn’t agree.”
“Well, she’s crazy.”
My head shakes as I swallow my sip of wine. “He. My housemate is a bloke.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Hahaha! No. He seems pretty angry that I’m using up some of the oxygen on Earth.”
“He’s a prick, then.”
Sucking in a breath, I prepare to agree with him but at the last moment this foreign emotion prevents my words from forming.
Protective.
I feel protective of Theo. He is a prick and so much worse, but I don’t like Rowan saying it.
“He’s … troubled. But he’s also so amazing. You should see him work. He’s a carpenter, and everything he touches turns into the most beautiful creation.” I take another drink of wine then my finger traces the rim of the glass. “Sometimes I watch him when he doesn’t know I’m watching him. He’s an artist. I love how his hands skim over a newly-sanded piece of wood, the subtle nod he gives himself when he’s satisfied with something he’s done, or the way he sits back on his heels while kneeling on the floor, worrying his upper lip between his teeth while he contemplates his next move.”
Rowan puts his empty bottle down and grabs my legs, scooting my stool closer to his, so his legs cage my knees. “So he’s a talented prick, but if he doesn’t treat you well…” he leans forward until his lips brush my ear “…then he’s still a prick.”
I shake my head, intensifying the heavy fog seeping into my brain from one glass of wine. “He’s just … he’s …” I continue to shake my head as I pull away and drop some money on the bar. “I have to go. It was nice to meet you.”
“Wait.” Rowan pays for his drink and follows me out of the bar. “Where are you going?”
“My house.” I continue to make my way to the beach.
“Scarlet, I thought we had a connection.”
His hand clasps my arm, stopping my momentum.
Run, Scarlet!
“Please don’t.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
My narrowed eyes attempt to focus on his hand still gripping my arm. Now who’s the prick? “If you’re not going to hurt me then why are you gripping my arm so tightly?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. If I let go, promise not to run?”
My heart screams, “Giddy-up!” Adrenaline dances in my veins.
“If you don’t let her go, some early morning jogger will find the remnants of your dead body washed up on the beach after I bloody you up and feed your pathetic fucking ass to the sharks.”
Theodore.
I don’t have to look back to know that my housemate must look quite intimidating because Rowan releases me and stumbles backwards like he can’t get out of here fast enough.
“Three … two …” Theo’s voice jabs through the air.
“Dude, I’m going.” Rowan turns and runs back toward the pub, tripping a few more times before clearing the sand.
“Thank you—” I turn, but Theodore is already a tall figure in the distance. I chase after him. “Stop!”
He doesn’t.
I hop on one foot and then the other, pulling off my flip-flops, then I continue to close the distance between us. “Thank you.”
Theo keeps walking as I try to match his long strides, my winded breath louder than the waves along the dark shore.
“You stubborn arse! Did you hear me? If you hate me so much, then why save me back there?”
“Go to bed,” he says as we walk into the house.
My eyes shoot daggers as he continues to the stairs without even looking at me. I blame the wine or maybe the lack of food, but before my mind fully registers what I’m doing, one of my flip-flops connects with the back of his head.
He stops, turning ever so slowly.
I shake my head. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t care how fucked-up you are. I’m not a child you can order around. Why were you on the beach? Were you following me? Why save me? Is it because you think I’m your toy and no other man except you is allowed to manhandle me? Well, I have news for you, Theodore Reed, I am not your—”
CHAPTER NINE
Theodore
I’m fed up with this woman running her mouth.
Seven weeks.
I had seven weeks of quietude, but now she’s back to irritating the living hell out of me, distorting every word with her I’m-a-fucking-queen accent. Her eyes widen as I swallow the distance between us in two, quick strides. At the last moment, she holds up her little fists that wouldn’t dent a piece of bread. She can’t be serious. I’m not going to fight her with my fists. I take her with my mouth. The instant our lips meet, she sucks in a breath so big I’m shocked her tiny lungs hold that much air.