Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
He pulls his hand away and leans forward, those amber eyes full of anger. “Two fucking years?”
I nod. “Yes. Remember, I’d call the police, and they’d tell me that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That he wasn’t bothering me to the point of it actually being considered stalking or harassment. And there were times when he’d go months without reaching out to me. And just as I’d start to feel secure, believing that he’d finally moved on, something would happen. It was enough to keep me on edge and in a constant state of worry but not enough to get him into trouble.”
“Fucking asshole.”
“Quite, yes. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night, and I knew I wasn’t alone.”
Beckett stands and starts to pace, so angry that he can’t sit still.
“I’m sorry, I’ll stop telling you. I just have to explain this to get to Riley and—”
“I want to hear it,” he says, shaking his head. “And I want to kill him, all at the same time.”
But he sits, drags his hand down his face, then holds my hand once more.
“Are you okay?” My question is a whisper, and instead of answering, he simply tugs me into his lap, wraps his arms around me, and buries his face in my neck. I’ve never felt anything better in my life. My stomach quivers, my lady bits come fully awake, and it’s clear to me, right here and now, that being in Beckett’s arms is my favorite place to be. If I’m wrong about this man, it will devastate me because every molecule in my body screams that I can trust him.
And gods, how I want to trust him.
“This is better,” he murmurs, dragging one hand down my spine. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes.” Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I slide my fingers into his hair and hold on. I am so much more than okay with this. “Yes, this is lovely.”
“We need a minute.” He presses his lips to my skin, where my neck meets my shoulder, and I take a deep breath, soaking in this moment.
This is what it must feel like to be treasured.
And he hasn’t even kissed me.
“Okay.” He pulls back and loosens his hold on me but keeps me in his lap. “Go on.”
I’ve wanted to touch his beard since the first moment I saw this man. If he can tug me onto his lap, I can do this.
My hand drifts down his face, into those whiskers, and I was right. They’re soft and feel amazing against my palm. And when I use my nails to scratch his cheek, he groans.
“Keep doing that, Irish, and we won’t make it through this conversation, and I think we need to finish this.”
“You’re right, but I’ve wanted to touch you like this since I saw you at that pub.”
His eyebrows climb. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Your beard is sexy.”
“Then I’ll keep the beard.” He pulls my hand away and kisses my palm. “Now, keep talking, sweetheart.”
I lick my lips and frown, trying to remember where I left off.
“Middle of the night. You’re not alone,” he reminds me.
“Ah yes. I didn’t have Riley yet, but I also lived in a building with great security. I might have been considered a starving dancer, but my family certainly wasn’t starving, so my parents bought me an amazing flat in a safe building.”
“I understand.” He dances his fingers down my face, and I take a deep breath.
“If I can’t touch, you can’t touch. Those are the rules.”
His lips twitch as he drops his hand, and instead of touching my face, he grips my hip.
“I panicked.” My heart leaps with the memory, and Beckett’s hold on me tightens.
“You’re okay, Irish.”
I lick my lips. “My phone wasn’t by the bed. It had been moved. And from what I’ve pieced together, when I woke up, it scared The Arsehole because I heard my front door shut. I flew out of bed and fell, spraining my ankle something fierce. I didn’t know for sure if he’d left. But I knew who it was. I knew.”
“Of course, you knew.”
“I crawled—”
He growls at that. Actually growls.
“Into the living room and found my phone on the coffee table. It had been unlocked, and he’d been going through it. Not that he would have found anything, but still, it was an invasion of privacy. Connor was out of the country at a property in Milan, so I called Mik, and he and Benji rushed right over. They took me to an emergency clinic, where I was told that I sprained my ankle so badly that it would have been better if it had broken. It would have been easier because torn ligaments take longer to repair.”
“Shit.” He’s touching me again, running his hands up and down my back, soothing me. “I’m so sorry, Skyla.”