Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
I stand at the mirror and stare at my reflection. At the choker of glittering diamonds around my neck.
Three hundred thousand dollars’ worth.
And he just signed for it like it was nothing.
Then wrapped it around my neck like a collar.
A wave of heat sweeps across my skin as I imagine being on my knees in front of him, a leash tethered to my choker and clasped firmly in his strong hands.
Lust pounds between my thighs, and I frown.
Is this who I am now?
I touch the gems. They’re cold and hard. And more beautiful than any other piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen.
Walking back into the auction, I stop in the hallway when I overhear two voices talking in one of the rooms off the hallway. One is Lev, and the other is the blonde who was sitting across the table from us. Lydia, the unblinker.
A strange tingle takes up in my stomach.
“I’m surprised to see you brought a date,” she says, a little edge to her voice.
“Who, the blonde?” Lev asks nonchalantly.
Lydia laughs, and it’s playful and flirty. “Yes, Lev, the blonde. Who is she? I’m intrigued. I’ve never seen you with a woman on your arm before. She must be special for you to bring her to something like this.”
"She is no one special. I needed a date, and she looks good in a dress."
Hmph.
“You’re downplaying it. That’s a lot of diamonds hanging around her neck.”
“Which she won’t be keeping. I wanted those jewels. But not for her.”
“Then why put them around her neck? It looked awfully like you were making a public claim of her.”
Lev laughs. “You’re reading way too much into it. I was hardly going to put them on someone else. I wanted the other bidder to see what he’d lost. Putting them on her seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“So you used her to rub it in the other bidder’s face. Oh, Lev, I do love how naughty you are.” Another flirty laugh, and I feel sick. “So you really have no interest in her?”
“Not in the slightest. Like I said, she’s not my type. She’s a little tame for my tastes.”
The way he says it—so cold and without hesitation—hurts more than it should. In fact, it cuts right down to the bone.
Lydia laughs. “I thought she looked out of your league. A little bland. But she’s interested, Lev. I can tell by the way she looks at you.”
“Then she’s making a mistake. She’s a means to an end.”
I bristle.
There’s that fucking phrase again.
“Oh, how so?”
“People seem to think I need a date when I attend these things. I’m showing them that I don’t. Brooke is here to show them that having a woman on my arm is meaningless and offers no value. And she’s doing a very good job of it.”
“Oh, you’re a rogue, Lev Zarkov,” she says, and there’s that flirty laugh again.
I’ve heard enough.
I walk off in search of my coat. I’m not hanging around to be paraded about like a pariah.
I’m so hurt and angry I can’t stand to be here another minute.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. He even told me he wasn’t a good guy.
Yet, there’s still that small part of me that mourns the loss of the man I met on the plane. The man who was charming and attentive and fun, and so much more than this monster I’m currently tethered to.
I find my coat and head for the door.
I’m not a good man at all.
He said it himself.
What a joke.
He’s not just a bad man.
He’s a fucking asshole.
34
LEV
After extracting myself from Lydia’s claws, I go in search of Brooke and find her shrugging on her coat.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
I’m not blind. I can tell she’s pissed at me.
“We’re not done here,” I say.
“You might not be, but I am.”
She pushes past me and storms out the door.
I catch up with her as she’s climbing into the car. She slams the door on me and locks it so I’m forced to get in from the other side.
During the car ride home, she clams up and stares out the window.
And because I don’t like games, I don’t press her.
I’m not going to pander to her mood.
If she’s got something to say, she can damn well say it.
But when we arrive home and she tries to storm off to her room, I stop her.
She’s not getting out of this that easy.
“Oh no you don’t,” I growl. “You don’t get to throw all your toys out of the playpen and then storm off. I won’t play games—you either tell me what is wrong, or you can lock yourself in your room and don’t come out until you’re ready to talk.”
Luckily, I don’t have to wait because she’s pissed enough to want to get it off her chest.