Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
It’s further proof that he’s too kind, too honorable for me.
“No.” I drop my legs from around his waist, stepping away on shaky ground. “I have a lot of work to do here, Byron. And…” My hands wring together, misery lancing me in the side. “And I just don’t think that it’s a good idea. I’m not looking for anything serious.”
Liar. You would throw yourself in front of a bullet for him.
It doesn’t get more serious.
Byron’s brows draw together above the black frames of his glasses, as if he’s going through a math problem, looking for where he made a mistake. And he doesn’t find one. “You’re not looking for anything serious?” he repeats, his skepticism obvious. “Don’t lie to me, Jane. You show up in my regular coffee shop, hoping to see me. To fuck me up and make me crazy. Right? You kiss me like you’d rather die than stop for a breath.”
“Listen to what you’re saying. I showed up in your neighborhood to make you crazy. Make you need me. Do you think that’s normal? Do you think that’s healthy?”
“No. Probably not.” He backs me further into the shadows, his shoulders blocking everything behind the building. Trees, the sun. “Is it healthy that I edged myself all night thinking of you, stroking right until I couldn’t take anymore, then stopping? Refusing the come unless it’s in your sweet little pussy?” He takes a deep breath, his pupils dilating, chest heaving. “Is it healthy that I offered free software to your company so I can install spyware on your computer? To watch what you’re doing and who you’re speaking with? Sent the proposal this morning. So yeah…” My back hits the wall and he leans down, pressing his mouth to the leaping pulse at the base of my neck. “You’ve fucked me up and made me crazy. Now you’re going to live with the consequences.”
Dizziness rocks me. Is this really happening? He’s…stalking me now? My body is flooded with ecstasy, so heavy I can barely remain upright. I could sink, sink, sink into this and never come up for air. I could addict him to me, same as I’m addicted to him, but no. No, I can’t do that to this beautiful human whose life I helped turn upside down. I’ve done enough to wreck his existence, I can’t engage him in this sick, filthy co-dependency. When he tries to flatten me against the wall, I stave him off with two hands to the chest. “Byron, listen to me. You can still get out of this without being ruined.”
“No, I can’t,” he says without hesitation, raking his mouth through my hair. “I’m already ruined and I like it. So I’m taking you to lunch, understand? Before I fuck you again and call you those names that make your pretty young cunt dripping wet, I’m going to make sure you know I respect you. You want to be my whore in bed, that’s fine. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t make me hard. But when we’re not in bed, you need to know you’re my princess. All right?”
Grief almost cracks me wide open. “But I’m not a princess.”
I’m a murderer.
Indirectly, at least.
I was in the car that hit and killed his sister. I should have been more insistent that my friend call an Uber. He could still have his sister if I’d been more responsible. Now I’m going to obsess this man to the point of madness, that way I’m obsessed with him?
It’s reprehensible.
“You’re my princess,” he says, leaning down to kiss my mouth slowly, thoroughly, a groan building deep inside his chest. “The sweetest, most beautiful one there is. And I need to know you. I need to fucking consume you.”
What else can I do but nod and let him suck a red mark onto my neck, my core tugging anxiously in response? What does a girl do when the object of her obsession offers her everything? A fortune beyond her wildest dreams? Answer: She can’t do anything but nod, letting her body go pliant against him, nearly in a faint. She makes a sobbing sound and lets him pick her up, cradle her protectively and carry her to his waiting Tesla. She tries to tell herself he’ll get over the infatuation soon. That she won’t ruin him completely.
And she’ll know she’s dead wrong.
Byron brings me to lunch at a private club. I’ve never been here, nor did I know it existed. He holds my hand on the way through a shaded courtyard, through a fence and into a stately looking brick building. An older gentleman in a suit greets us just inside the door and without a word, he guides us through a lounge area complete with billiard tables, low lighting and a smattering of members on their laptops. We’re brought to a small, intimate dining room located downstairs in a wine cellar. A table has been set up with white linens, candles, a bottle of wine.