Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Fucking asshole. Just one day I’d like to come home and not instantly be irritated. Hell, after everything that happened in Barcelona, a part of me had started to wonder if perhaps things might get easier between us. Apparently I was wrong.
Letting out a loud huff, I drive over to Mrs. Macy’s available spot in 410. I climb out, and not willing to risk that Raiden won’t mess with my car to get even, I turn the alarm on. Then, as I’m making my way toward the elevator, I can’t help but notice little specs of pink and silver glitter scattered across the ground.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I take myself up to level three, more than ready to crash and take a few days to recoup. Despite giving myself an extra day to relax in Barcelona, I’ve never felt so exhausted, and it has everything to do with Raiden Kane.
Making my way down the corridor toward my apartment, I aim to pass Raiden’s door and keep moving, but my fist pounds the heavy wood before I know what I’m doing.
A laugh rumbles through the apartment inside, and it only manages to grate my nerves even more. Raiden approaches the door, taking his sweet time, and my frustration shifts from mildly irritated into full-blown fury.
The door swings wide in front of me, and Raiden appears in nothing but a pair of low-hanging basketball shorts, showing off every inch of that sculpted torso. A light sheen of sweat coats his body, and his cheeks are flushed as though he just returned from a late afternoon run. And damn it, he’s got me burning up.
He leans against the door frame, that signature smirk resting on his lips. “Oh hey, neighbor. What brings you around?”
I grit my teeth, and my only response is to lift my hand and flip him the bird.
“Oooh, she’s a feisty firecracker today. What’s wrong, baby? Your spontaneous little trip didn’t manage to work those . . . pent-up frustrations out of your system? Why don’t you come on in and tell me all about it? I’m sure I can help with that.”
My hands ball into fists, and I resist the urge to ram them straight into his gut before immediately stalking off, knowing that one more second spent in this doorway is going to result in me on my back, screaming his name. And considering I was the one who said that wasn’t going to happen, I need to follow through.
Raiden just laughs, watching me search for my keys to unlock the door. Then, as I’m rushing inside, his voice trails behind me just before I slam the door. “Awww, come on, Firecracker. Don’t be like that. I promise, I won’t bite . . . much.”
I fall back against the closed door, silently screaming, when my body stiffens.
Somebody’s been in my apartment.
My stomach sinks, unease pounding through my veins, seeing the big dragon dildo suctioned to my kitchen counter. I know I left that box out, but I know for a fact that everything was packed away before I left. Yet there it is, staring back at me from the stone counter.
My gaze slices through the apartment, quickly sweeping every inch of my home, and as I slowly stride through the living room, I find five empty plant pots sitting on my small coffee table.
My brow arches, and after determining there’s nobody inside my home, I make my way over to the row of brand-new little homes for Spikezilla, each one of them more ridiculous than the last.
The first is a cock-shaped pot that says don’t be a prick. The next is a voluptuous ass that reads thick & thorny. Pot number three is a simple little pot with two little hands at either side flipping me off, the words spiky little fucker scrawled across the front. Lucky pot number four is a mini coffin that says dead inside. While the fifth, as simple as it is, is by far my favorite. It’s a sassy little face with a speech bubble saying What the fucculent?
Fuck, I hate how much I love them, and I hate knowing that they’ve come from the giant asshole next door, because it makes me hate him just a little bit less. And if I have to be completely honest, I’m not even sure if I hate him at all.
Damn it. Why did he have to make this complicated?
Screwing me in Barcelona is one thing, but caring for Spikezilla . . . shit. That right there is a one-way ticket to my heart. But he can’t have it. It’s not on offer, and I have no intention of ever giving it away. My life is too chaotic to share with someone, especially someone like Raiden Kane.
A stupid smile pulls across my lips, but then it hits me as I’m scanning my apartment for any other surprises. How the fuck did he get in here? The industrial-sized deadbolt I had installed on my door is still fully intact. That leaves very few entry points he’d be willing, or even capable, of utilizing.