Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
"It's going to make you mad."
"Why?"
"Because it's just stupid gossip."
My blood pressure spikes. "Who are they saying you're fucking?"
"What?" She blinks at me in obvious consternation. "No one."
Well, that's surprising.
"Tell me what they're saying about you," I say, my voice soft.
She stares at me for a moment, and then her shoulders slump. "They're saying I keep missing events and haven't been seen out in a while because I have body image issues," she whispers, tears welling in her eyes. "They think I had weight-loss surgery."
"Jesus Christ," I mutter in disgust, my blood pressure spiking higher.
"It's not true!" she cries as if I'm not already well aware of that. I'm why she's been missing events and hasn't been seen. I'm the only thing she's been hiding. And they're fucking gossiping about her, tearing her to shreds as if she isn't a real person with real feelings who has to read the shit they write about her.
I wiggle the mouse attached to her laptop, bringing the screen to life. She has a web browser open to an article on Celebrity Teatime. I skim the article, fury pulsing through me as I read their hot take on why she's been MIA the past few weeks. It's all bullshit. And it's all my goddamn fault. She's been keeping a low profile to protect me, and this is what they spin it into. This is what they do to her.
I close the lid of her laptop in disgust and pull her off the island and into my arms. She wraps around me like a koala bear, burying her face in my shoulder. She doesn't cry. My little star is far too strong to cry over gossip, but I know she's hurting over it. The fuckers. As if her body isn't perfect exactly the way it is. My God. Men would kill just for a chance to be close to her.
Goddamn. What is with this town and its sick fascination with women's bodies? They're dying over this shit, and still, these assholes keep publishing this crap as if they have any right to comment. It's abhorrent. Laura is perfect exactly the way she is. And if she did have weight loss surgery, it wouldn't be any of their goddamned business.
I want to find everyone who has published this bullshit and rage. But I can't do that. I have to protect her. Going on the defensive will only add fuel to the fire. Instead of shutting the story down, it'll only grow. That's how it works in this town. The more you protest, the more they think you have something to hide. The more vicious they become.
No one deserves that, least of all the woman in my arms.
"What can I do?" I ask, pressing my lips to her temple as guilt washes through me in a flood. This is all my fucking fault, and she's been dealing with it alone to protect me. Fuck that. It's my job to protect her, not the other way around.
"Just hold me, Kaiden," she whispers. "Make it all go away."
As if she even needs to ask.
When my phone rings three hours later, Laura is naked and sleeping peacefully in my arms. I made love to her softly, sweetly, until she couldn't take any more. She drifted off in my arms, unable to hold her eyes open a moment longer. I've been wide awake, my mind spinning in dizzying circles.
I need to fix this for her. But where do I even start?
I want to shout from the fucking rooftops that she's mine, and she's been too busy with me to bother with their inane bullshit. But is that fair to her? She's a goddamn knockout. I'm a washed-up has-been, a stuntman who can't stunt. One most people in this town can't even look at without flinching. She's lightyears out of my league, and everyone knows it.
What will being linked to me do to her professionally?
I don't fucking know. I never thought that far ahead when I claimed her. Part of me refused to think that far ahead, perhaps because I already knew the answer. It's not just the scar on my face that puts her out of my league. I'm a grumpy, reclusive bastard. I'm out of shape. I'm twice her age. She's sunshine. I'm dark alleys.
She's mine anyway. Mine to protect. Mine to claim. Mine to love.
But how the fuck do I do that without hurting her career?
Ironic that they accuse her of having body image issues when I'm the one with a whole fucking boatload of those. But the thing is, I don't even fucking care what people say about me anymore. I survived that storm once. I can do it a second time. I care what people say about her because of me.
My phone rings again.
I gently slide out from beneath her. Her brow furrows in her sleep, her lips pursing into a pout that has my cock twitching. Swear to God, every expression that crosses her face fascinates me. She's enchanting in her unguarded moments, so excruciatingly beautiful it hurts.