Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“As you wish.” My jewel slips from my fingers. As I reach to toss her hair, she flinches. It bloody hurts that I’m the bloke who can’t reciprocate her affections. Won’t.
“Alright.” I’ll give you a day or two. Appease my duchy and other requirements. Then I’ll return and fix this.
Jaw stiff, I add, “But know this, Luxury, you’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever laid eyes on. When God created you, every one of those fucking world wonders went bloody obsolete. Trust me. I've seen them all.”
“Stop, Victor.” Eyes downcast, Luxury treads her fingers over the foot of the bedpost. “When you’re not snarling or snapping, you’ve a knack for declaring the craziest—”
“What? You don't believe me?” I pose the question under the assumption that it will strike up a conversation. That Luxury will overlook her quest for me to leave.
“Listen, I brought you up here because, unlike you, I’ve got a fucking heart.” Luxury pauses to place a hand on her chest. “I wouldn’t cuss you out from a window. We are so over, but I feel sorry for the next woman who crosses paths with you.”
“You don’t mean that.” I gesture with my hands, sighing heavily, though the royal in me is astounded by Luxury’s words. Having rarely been confronted, I observe her through a lens of reverence. Brilliant, Vic, she’s riling herself up. Jump in at your leisure, wanka!
“You’re a danger to my sanity,” she says. “I get the picture. You’ve spent years wrapping women around your finger. It’s not me; it’s you.”
“Yes, Luxury. It is me,” I reply through gritted teeth. “I’ve offered you the only part of me that I—”
“You’re a master of manipulation. Stop telling me anything because, right now, your very presence makes me believe roses are peonies.” She scoffs at the absurdity. “I need to stop believing in you, Vic.”
I rub a hand across my face then sneeze. “Fuck!”
“You're cold?” Kindness stitches Luxury’s brows together. All too soon, Luxury recalls a giving heart will be her downfall. A serious expression pulls onto her face.
Affronted by her brisk demeanor, I deadpan, “I feel nothing, Lux, because I’ve been . . . honest. You’ve denied me.”
“Stop saying that. You manipulated me last time, saying I denied you. Don't get all romantic. Who denied whose calls?” She punctuates a stiff hand at the door. “Now, shut up, so I can hurry up and get over you.”
“We're bloody through, then? You’ll settle for a lackluster life without me.”
“Yes, Victor! When I’m horny, maybe I’ll text you verbatim, Come fuck me, Vic. So, you won’t assume I’m still obsessing over you.”
My hands fall to the top of my head. What a dire mistake. Luxury’s as unshakable as the Queen’s guards. My fleet of risk assessors at Tudor Enterprise could outline an entire proposal of how Luxury’s high-risk.
Give me a bloody smile, Little One. Look at me like you bloody care with the same light in your eyes. I’ll defy my Queen, keep you.
England has low-risk all across the board. Today, I’m not up for a challenge, not unless she gives me a fraction of a fucking sign.
Something.
“Little One—”
“No.”
The darkness in me claims that this isn’t over. Although I vow to return to her once I’ve brought down Everhart, I attempt another angle. “I care for you.”
Giving a cracked chuckle, Luxury retorts, “I’ll refrain from responding to that. I’ve harped enough, Vic. I would be remiss not to look out for the next woman whose heart’s shattered by you, so I just had to tell you about yourself.”
I’ve never bloody hung my head in my entire life, but I do now as I leave Luxury’s room. In the past, when my expectations weren’t met, a gun would suffice, or I’d turn my energies to another sure thing. With every step I take down the stairs, I’m a boiling rage of possessive fury. At the corner of my eye, Whitson hurries by. He must’ve snooped. Caught in the filthy act, he huffs and returns my nod as I descend the last step.
“Do you care about my daughter?”
Without hesitation, I grit out, “Yes.” Love isn’t possible, but I fucked up. Botched the entire thing by welcoming the challenge of keeping her safe. Now, I bloody care.
“Where are you going, then?”
“Bollocks, Whitson!” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You should be chuffed to bits that I’m leaving.”
“I’m not happy!”
“No? Have you forgotten our conversation? You told me to leave her be. Moreover, Luxury bloody cursed my very existence.” Not inclined for a further chin-wagging, I stroll toward the door because, contrary to what Luxury believes, I will enter her life at will. I will come and I will go at my own discretion because I was molded in my father’s image.
“Well, are you a man who’ll fight for what he wants?” He keeps pace, scrutinizing me.