Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Her voice was final. “Maybe you should move into the other room.”
I was unprepared for the concept of Kara throwing me out. The disorientation, the unprecedented event . . . I refused to believe it. “Neither of us wants that.”
“Please. You don’t give a hell about what anyone wants except yourself.”
“Don’t be like this.” I was vaguely aware my control was slipping away again, but it came out before I could lock it down. “I’m not Paul. Don’t put that on me.”
The noise of shock from her was a knife in my heart.
“One of us,” she said, her voice like steel, “is going. Right. Now.”
The anger at myself made everything more difficult. “Fine, I’ll go.” I didn’t want to, but for once I’d put someone else’s wants over my own. “I’ll be next door if you need anything.”
I zipped my suitcase closed with aggression, yanked it off the stand, and marched for the door, hoping she’d stop me.
But she didn’t.
I ate alone in the room with almost all the lights off. Melodramatic, my mother would have said. Somehow, I was the only one in our family who wasn’t afraid of feelings. I didn’t view them as a weakness. I welcomed emotion. Well—controlled emotion.
Kara Hayward had turned me into an idiot who would say or do any terrible thought that formed in my idiot brain, but sleeping with her hadn’t been a mistake. I was certain. Because I wanted to do it again. And again.
I wanted . . . more.
So, I spent a long time thinking about how I was going to get what I wanted, and I didn’t get into bed until I had a plan laid out. Yet sleep would not come, no matter how tired I was. Concerning thoughts repeated in my brain, relentless. My feelings were developing much too quickly for the woman next door, the one who loved to challenge me.
The woman who I was fairly certain despised me.
16
KARA
Shawn must have ordered dinner for me, because an elegant meal arrived on a white tablecloth covered cart not long after the sun had set outside. The food was probably excellent, but I ate in utter silence, tasting none of it. I wanted to talk to Laurel, but Jason had told me not to call unless necessary. That left little to do but stare at the unmade bed and drink the rest of the bottle of red wine he’d opened.
Shawn thought he could do whatever he wanted, like men in his position often did. Three days ago, he’d waltzed into my office and had taken me over. He said it was to keep me safe.
I was smart enough to know better. He’d only done it so he could sleep with me. No, wait, fuck me. That’s how he would have put it.
When I finished my glass of wine, I went on to drinking straight from the bottle, which was a really bad idea. I was a lightweight and could get hammered in a heartbeat. My feet were already numb from the alcohol. Maybe after I finished the wine, I’d raid the mini-fridge and rack up a huge bill for him.
But I’d forgotten.
It was stocked with nothing but Osterhägen beer, and I couldn’t bring myself to go near it after discovering that. In fact, I couldn’t go near anything without slamming into it. Too much wine and high heels were not a good combination. I stepped out of the shoes and wanted to throw up, but wasn’t sure if that was the wine or the fact I’d been wearing them when I’d had the best sex of my life.
How could I wear them again?
He’d ruined my shoes, air travel, and sex with other men. Pretty good for three measly days. Or was it four? Things blurred together.
I changed into my pajamas and fell on the small couch. I wouldn’t dare sleep on the bed. Why hadn’t I pushed to change rooms so I didn’t have to face the memory of what had happened here? God, I was a fool. He was going to use me and discard me like he did with every other woman he’d had.
I forced myself to focus on the spinning ceiling and not the man who was next door, but that lasted a single breath.
What was he doing right now?
And what would I do if he came calling? I’d cave in a heartbeat. Less time, if he touched me. Weak. I rose from the uncomfortable couch and stumbled to the bed, pulled up the covers, and tried to quiet the desire for him to knock on my door.
I threw up the entire bottle of wine plus dinner, then sank down on the cold tile floor, pressing my forehead against the porcelain base of the toilet. I didn’t care it was gross. It felt too good on my heated skin, plus it was a luxury hotel. The cleaning crew was probably thorough.