Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I expel my breath. We’re getting nowhere. Never have I been engaged in a negotiation so ineffective considering I am the one with all the bargaining chips in hand, literally. I rise to my feet, and instantly, she does the same, panicking and preparing herself for my next move.
“You can’t bear to be with me for one minute? Yet, here you are for the past ten minutes wasting my time.”
“I’m wasting your time? May I remind you, I’m not here by choice. You called me. I’m enduring you because my father has become entangled with you and I’m trying to solve the problem at hand in a way that is satisfactory to all parties,” she throws at me, even as she takes a fearful step back.
“I know you’re attached to your pride,” I say quietly as I close the gap between us. “It’s as big as a man’s, and probably even bigger. I don’t blame you. You’ve made your own way in life and you don’t want to be considered a damsel in distress, but sweetheart—”
“I’m not your sweetheart” she grates through gritted teeth.
I smile at the fire in her voice. “Sweetheart,” I repeat, savoring the way a vein in her temple pulses with irritation. God, she fascinates me. “As much as you detest the idea, you are currently a damsel in distress. It’s no consolation to you, but your dad put you there so be mad at him, not me. I’m the white, or you might prefer, dark knight, swooping in to save you.”
By this time, I’m a mere step away from closing the distance between us and she is already pressed up against the door and trying to melt into it as if it could hide her from me. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, the tension between us almost tangible.
“If—if you come any closer, I will hit you,” she threatens, her voice shaking. Her warning charms me. She is so small, barely reaching my shoulder, yet she talks like she has weapons of mass destruction strapped to her waist.
More than anything, I need to feel her waist. To feel just how small it is in my grasp, and to feel the warmth radiating from her. But I don’t touch her. Not yet. I move just close enough that my scent and my presence envelop her completely.
She shuts her eyes, and I know she feels it too. The electric pull between us is more than enough to set the entire room ablaze. I lean in, intending to breathe her in, and I am instantly hit with that whiff of her perfume. It’s cheap, basic, but on her, it is a potent aphrodisiac—like savoring aged fine whiskey, the kind you remember years later.
I feel her movement before I see it, and my eyes open just in time to catch her hand coming for my face. I seize her wrist, gripping it firmly. Her wrist is tiny, nearly disappearing in my grip, and the softness of her skin contrasts sharply with the force she tries to exert.
“Really?” I ask, my tone mocking. “You’ve decided to add a lawsuit for assault to what you already owe me?”
I let go of her hand and she raises it again, but this time I deliberately don’t stop her. I feel the sting across my cheek. She doesn’t move. She waits, fierce eyes locked on me. She knows she has crossed the line and she doesn’t care. The audacity. It’s an incredible turn-on, an irresistible challenge. Blind lust rages inside me. Like a fire. It’s uncontrollable.
Taking a deep breath, I shut my eyes and school my features. She mustn’t know how little control I have when I am around her. How much power she holds over me. Only when I have wiped all expression from my face do I open my eyes to look at her again.
My tone is so cold and steely she would never for an instant suspect or even believe that what I really want to do is throw her on the filthy table behind me and fuck her until she screams. “I think,” I inform her. “You are mistaken about the kind of man I am. I want you, but not that badly. Not enough to tolerate disrespect.”
She glares at me, but I’ve seen this look too many times in the eyes of too many people not to recognize it. The glint of fear. She cannot hide it, no matter how hard she tries to mask it with bravado.
Still, she responds, and my interest is sparked once again despite myself. “Well then stop freaking calling me ‘sweetheart. My name is Lara, but you can call me Miss Fitzpatrick.”
I stare into her eyes, my gaze unyielding. “Do you know why I’m so adamant about having you?” I ask.
Her brows furrow at the question, and I see the confusion flash in her eyes.