Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“I think you need to move in here,” Dad says, dropping the bomb in my lap as he sits next to me on the sofa.
“What? Why? What about Mom?”
He flinches, hurt flashing in his eyes. “This isn’t about me keeping you from your mother,” he assures me. “After Ryan showing up at the house and then today with his father, I just think you’ll be safer here. I have a doorman and security in this building. Please don’t fight me on this, princess.”
I frown. “Mom will be sad.”
“Kelsey will get over it,” Cal grunts, coming to Dad’s aid. “He’s right.”
A shudder ripples through me as I recall the way I’d felt when Ryan emerged from the shadows. Helpless. Frozen in fear. Terrified beyond belief. “Okay,” I croak out.
Dad lets out a rushed breath of relief. “I’d feel better if Penny came too. I want my girls safe.”
Dad’s phone rings. He glances at it and then mouths, “Samantha,” before rising and heading back to his office. Cal plops down in the spot Dad vacated.
“Rich bitch,” Cal teases, his green eyes glinting with meanness.
I roll my eyes. “He’s rich, not me.”
“But you’re a daddy’s girl, so it’s yours too.”
“Says the spoiled boy who owns a campground,” I taunt back.
He smirks. “Show me your room, loser. I want to test out the bed.”
“Asshole,” I grumble, but climb to my feet.
I lead him down the hallway to the bedroom across from the office. Dad can be heard talking loudly to Samantha, even through the closed door. I push into my room that’s been painted a pretty off-white. I like my room at Dad’s because it’s so clean and fresh. A blank canvas. The bedspread and pillows are white. Even the throw rug on the floor is white. It reminds me of the room I had in rehab, which actually brings back good memories.
My bedroom at home has horrible ones.
All of which include Ryan.
Cal sits down on the bed, bouncing a little, an evil smirk on his face. I shake my head as I open one of the drawers on the dresser. He’s quiet as I pull out some cotton shorts and a T-shirt. I start for the bathroom, but he shakes his head.
“You remember the deal, Hoodlum?” His green eyes flash with challenge.
“The one I made with the devil?”
He grins, wolfish. Full of bright, shiny teeth keen on devouring me. “That’s it.”
“Me changing clothes in front of you is somehow going to make my life a living hell?” I clarify. “I’m not afraid of you seeing me naked.”
He leans back on the bed, resting on his elbows. “I’m not done. Stripping is the first part.”
Cal Hutton thinks he unnerves me. Truth is, he lights a match on my battered soul that’s been shredded. I’m brittle and paper-thin. All he’s doing is making me burn. Transforming me from something weak and decaying to something bright and brilliant. It makes me feel powerful seeing the need in his eyes. I retake what was stolen from me.
In a slow way meant to torture, I peel off my shirt, revealing my black lacy bra. He gives nothing away. Not a smirk. Not a sharp breath. Nothing but the hungry glint in his eyes. I don’t back down, though. Reaching behind me, I unhook my bra, sending it to the floor with my shirt. His eyes burn a trail of heat from my lips to my breasts. At one time, I thought my C cups would have looked better as D cups and even begged Dad to let me get implants—which he vehemently denied. But, based on the way Cal drinks them in, I’d say they’re pretty perfect.
“Doing okay so far?” I murmur, unbuttoning my top button on my jeans.
His infamous smirk comes into play. “A job as a stripper isn’t in your future, English. I mean, sure, you’ve got the tits for it, but the whole seductive teasing thing needs some work.”
Rolling my eyes, I unzip my jeans and then shimmy them over my hips. For someone not interested in me being a stripper, he sure looks seconds from shoving all his money into my panties. This time, I’m the one smirking.
I kick away my jeans, but remain in my orange socks and black panties. I may not be a stripper, but I was a cheerleader. I know how to move my body and demand attention. With confidence that comes easy in his presence, I prance over to him, swaying my hips for his benefit. His breath hitches when I place a knee on the bed beside his hip.
“Your dad could come in any second,” he mocks. “He’d be so shocked to know his daughter’s a slut.”
“Stripper,” I murmur, climbing onto his lap. “Sluts are the girls you fucked all summer.”
He sneers. “I didn’t fuck anyone this summer.”
My brows fly to my hairline. “Liar.”