Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I suppress a shudder at the prospect of public exposure, the risk that my family might find out about this incident. I’ve learned to find joy in the small, quiet life I’ve built for myself, and I can’t bear the thought of their censure if they find out that I have a stall at the market rather than my own gallery. I’m enough of a disappointment already.
“It wasn’t a lot of money,” I insist. “It’s not worth calling the cops.”
Franklin looks at me like I’m crazy. “That psycho hit you. I’m calling nine-one-one.”
“I just stumbled,” I counter quickly. “And I’m fine. Seriously, Franklin. Don’t.”
His eyes search mine, and his lips thin beneath his neat black moustache. He must see some of the panic churning inside me, because he nods after a tense moment.
“Okay. It’s your call, Abby.”
“How much did he take?” Dane’s voice rumbles with his own anger. On my behalf.
The entire situation is like something out of one of my wildest fantasies. Dane is swooping in to protect me like he’s my own personal white knight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask instead of answering him.
I sound a bit rude when I should be nothing but grateful. My mind is so muddled by the wild turn of events that I’m speaking erratically. I’m trying to make sense of everything that’s just happened, and Dane’s presence is a shock, even if it’s not unwanted.
“I mean…” I scramble beneath the weight of his small frown. “I’ve never seen you in the market before.”
He shrugs. “I had some free time today and was going for a walk around town. I saw you and decided to come say hello.” His eyes turn stormy. “I should’ve been here five minutes earlier.”
The protectiveness in that fierce statement makes something distinctly feminine swoon inside me, and I release a small sigh.
“I really am okay,” I promise. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”
His eyes remain fixed on mine, but he tilts his chin in the direction of my purse, which the thief discarded when he grabbed my cash and ran.
“How much did he take?” Dane repeats, and his deep tone demands an answer this time.
“Fifty dollars.” I’m compelled to reply. “It’s early. I’ll sell another painting to make up for the loss by the end of the day.”
His attention turns to my work. I’m seized by the sudden urge to step in front of him so that he can’t see my art. For some reason, it feels too deeply personal; I squirm at the prospect that he might critique my paintings. Someone as suave as Dane probably has expensive taste in art, and even though painting is my passion, I’m far from gallery-worthy.
His head cants to the side, considering for a long, agonizing moment.
“I’ll take all of them,” he says with a sweep of his arm to encompass the entire table.
“What?” I ask on a puff of air.
His lips quirk in a devastatingly sexy smirk. “You heard me. I want to buy all of them. And then we can talk about meeting for drinks tonight.”
Anger hits me like a gut punch, and I forget all notions about being charmed by his white-knight behavior. “I don’t want your money.”
He blinks, and his square jaw goes slack with shock.
Then his jaw firms, and a muscle ticks at his cheek. “It’s not charity, Abigail. I want to buy your art.”
“No, thank you.” The added words of gratitude are frosty and far from genuine.
I might be struggling to make ends meet, but I will not be controlled by someone else’s money. I’ve learned the hard way how to stand on my own two feet, and I won’t be manipulated financially ever again.
It would’ve been one thing if he’d simply asked me on a date. But the qualifier that he wants to buy the privilege makes my stomach churn. What more will he expect of me when he’s bought and paid for my time and gratitude?
“Let me help you,” he says, his tone heavy with something like admonishment, as though I’m being stubborn for no reason.
“No, thank you.” My back goes ramrod straight once again.
His gaze flicks over my squared shoulders, noting my perfect, defiant posture. Then his eyes capture mine again. They glitter with irritation and something a bit darker that I don’t fully acknowledge. A shiver races through me, but I hold my ground.
Dane blinks, and the disapproving glint vanishes from his eyes. They’re warm with concern again, and his handsome face is fixed in a rueful smile.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says, his voice resuming his smooth, alluring cadence. “If you’ll forgive me, I’d still like to meet for a drink tonight. I’ll feel better if I can see that you’re okay at the end of the day.”
My mind reels. Did I imagine the darkness lurking behind his eyes when I refused him? He’s so genial now, completely disarming. His six-foot-four frame even seems less imposing, as though he’s making himself less intimidating in order to put me at ease.