Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
My anger should’ve held steady. Instead, it tangled with the attraction so fast I couldn’t separate one from the other. I stood there, glowering down at her, trying to reconcile the woman from last night with the one in front of me while my blood kept heading in one inconvenient direction.
I’d handled speed records, dangerous builds, bad wrecks, armed enemies, and men who thought threatening the Redline Kings was a survivable hobby. None of that had ever left me feeling like my own body had betrayed me quite as thoroughly as this woman turning her head and looking up.
I searched her face for some sign of the drunken disaster from the night before, but she just sat there, sober and stiff-backed, staring at me like I was the one who’d lost my damn mind. And maybe I had, since I was hard over a woman I’d been ready to throw out thirty seconds ago.
Her brows pulled together, and that little crease between them did something ridiculous to my blood pressure because my body was still choosing to be a fucking traitor.
“Excuse me?” she finally snapped. “I don’t know you.”
The tone should’ve irritated me more. Instead, it tightened the heat already running low in my gut because not one trace of the glossy desperation she’d had the night before existed.
She looked offended, confused, and fully prepared to put me in my place despite the cut on my back and the fact that half the men in this room would think twice before using that tone with me. The little flash of temper in her eyes made me wonder what she’d look like if that fire was aimed at me for better reasons.
I scoffed, partly because I didn’t trust my reaction, but also because annoyance was easier to handle than the sudden urge to put my hands on her. “Seriously? How fucking drunk were you last night?”
Her spine went straight, and her chin lifted. “I don’t drink.”
The words rang with truth, which made no damn sense. She obviously saw the disbelief on my face because her mouth tightened, and I thought she was about to rip me a new asshole. Then something shifted.
Suspicion clouded her eyes, her head tilting slightly as she studied me with a sharper kind of focus.
“Wait. You were hit on by a drunk woman last night, and you think…” Her eyes narrowed, and she asked, “What exactly did she look like?”
I gestured at her, my patience razor thin. “You. Do you have split personalities or something?”
Her eyes widened for half a beat, then she snorted, the sound soft but loaded with enough exasperation that my mouth almost curved upward. “Only if my split personality lives outside my body and is pure evil.” When I didn’t immediately answer, mostly because my brain was busy catching up to the obvious, she huffed and shook her head like I’d disappointed her. “Uh, duh. I have an evil twin. Do you not read?”
My lips twitched before I could stop them. Then I was nearly bowled over with shock when I realized I believed her. I had no damn reason to, not one practical piece of proof beyond instinct and the fact that everything about her sat differently beneath the identical face, but the truth settled in my gut before logic got a vote.
The woman in front of me wasn’t Sutton. She wasn’t the drunk problem from last night. And every nerve in my body had recognized the difference before my head caught on.
“You’re not Sutton?”
“Nope.”
My voice had lost most of the harshness when I asked, “Then what’s your name?”
She clearly noticed my change in tone, and her gaze drifted over my face, wary now in a way that made me want to curse myself for how I’d come at her. But she wasn’t melting just because I’d adjusted my tone, and damn if that didn’t make the heat in my blood kick harder.
She pushed off the stool, and I got a better look at her body. She was about a foot shorter than my six-foot-four stature, with perky tits, wide hips, and legs that seemed too long for someone of average height. She wasn’t dressed to bait attention but drew mine anyway until my fingers flexed with the urge to test the curve of her waist.
“None of your business,” she clipped, grabbing her purse from the bar.
She turned away from me, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “arrogant jerk,” and for the first time in a long damn while, I stood still when I should’ve moved.
The realization that she was Sutton’s identical twin hit me so hard that it took a few seconds for my body to respond to the fact that she was walking away.
The relief was nearly as strong as the attraction. It slid through me with a brutal kind of clarity, explaining why the woman from last night had done nothing for me, but this one had my body ready to break every rule of public decency in a bar full of my brothers.