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)
My ribs tell my heart to calm the fuck down. I’m in humming-bird mode as Theodore Reed stands, eyes filled with a hunger for me like a lion mere inches from its dinner.
He takes a step toward me. I take one back. Several boxes fall to the floor, sending me stumbling back another step. Theo doesn’t flinch. The wall saves me from falling on my arse. As I begin to suck in a breath of relief, Theo crashes his mouth to mine, his deep groan sending chills along my skin.
He keeps me pinned to the wall with just his mouth. My hands claw the side of his head, missing his hair so damn much. The sharp hiss of his zip lets me know I’m seconds away from being fucked into the next century.
Expecting nothing less from this part-man-part-beast, the one I have literally decided to live for, he leaves me gasping for breath as he licks his fingers, swipes them between my legs, and then lifts me up a second before burying his hard cock in me to the hilt.
“Fuuck … Theo!” I yell.
No. Acclimation. That’s never been his style.
He bites my neck, leaving his first of what will be many marks. Then his lips curl into a grin along my skin as he drags them to my ear. “Yes … that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I was not put on this earth to judge anyone.
“Can I open this box?”
Theo glances up from his spot, perched on an upside-down milk crate, tuning his guitar. We’ve been in the attic for almost an hour, most of it spent discussing the madness of our relationship and righting the world again with our favorite answer to all questions—sex.
“Go for it.” He shrugs before returning his attention back to his guitar.
I rip off the tape and open a box marked Photos and Letters. My eager hands shuffle through them. The Reed family photos depict the all-American family with their Christmas pictures by the tree, holidays, birthdays, sporting events … it all paints a perfect story. How did it end in such tragedy?
“Are these love letters that your parents wrote to each other?” I take a stack of letters held together by a thick elastic band.
“Doubtful. My mom was the letter writer, but I don’t imagine she wrote anything to my father, knowing the chances of him writing something in return was nil. She loved fancy stationary and calligraphy pens. Most of the time she wrote to friends, even some that lived nearby. Just pick up the fucking phone. Right?” He shakes his head. “So those must be return letters from her friends.”
The elastic band is dry and disintegrating, so I ease one letter out. Theo has no idea how giving me total access to these boxes is like Christmas for my curiosity. I unfold the letter.
My heart stops.
All air vanishes.
Dear Bell,
My hands begin to shake. I can hardly read the words. “Wh-who is Bell?” My eyes skip to the closing signature.
Sincerely,
Belle
It takes a few moments to register Theo’s voice. The rush of blood in my ears drowns out all other sound.
“Nellie Moore. She and my mom were friends. Their maiden names were both Bell, but spelled differently. Everyone used to joke at how fitting the names were. My mom grew up on a farm with cow bells, and Nellie grew up in a rich family like belle of the ball.” He continues to focus on his guitar strings. “They used to call each other Bell.”
Every word is an echo. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“Scarlet?”
This can’t be.
“Scarlet?”
No. No. No. This isn’t right. It’s not real.
“Scarlet!”
My head snaps up to Theo, hunched in front of me. “We have to go,” I whisper, the letter falling from my hands.
“Go where?”
Blink. Blink. Blink. This isn’t real.
“Savannah. We have to go back to Savannah. My dad—Oscar—I need …” I scramble to my feet.
“What are you talking about?” Theo grabs my arms, forcing me to look at him. “He’s in prison.”
I shake my head. “He’s in Savannah. We … we have to go.”
“What … I …” He shakes his head. “What’s going on?”
I wriggle in his grasp until he lets me go. Then I climb down the ladder. “We have to go. Now.” Down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door, I can’t get out of here fast enough.
“Scarlet!”
Theo’s call to me is muted by the cracking of boards. My feeling of desperation to get back to Savannah is replaced with a shooting pain in my ankle and then my bum. Dusty shadows surround me.
“Scarlet!”
I look up to the light filtering through the jagged hole in the porch. Mucky weeds and dirt cover me. Theo grimaces then extends his arm into the hole.