Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
On the other hand, the fact that she resists me and everything I represent makes her a challenge. The alpha male in me likes the chase. I’m determined to win her over, if for nothing else, to prove I can.
Remembering she was going out with her friends tonight, I text her to ask if she’s still out. I probably shouldn’t booty call her, but I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t wait until tomorrow.
When she doesn’t answer, I find myself irrationally jealous of her friends. Wondering what she’s doing. Where they went.
Somehow, I end up in front of her townhouse. Her car is parked on the street, but there are no lights on. I should drive away.
This is more than a little stalkerish. I’m being creepy.
But then a guy in a Nissan drives past slowly, like he’s looking for a parking spot, and I catch Sophie’s lovely head sitting in the passenger seat.
Jealousy rages through me like a dark storm.
I know I have no right. She didn’t commit to me. We aren’t exclusive.
It doesn’t matter. I want to kill the guy. Murder him and stuff him in his trunk then push the piece of shit car off a bridge.
My hand is on the handle before I can think, but I stop myself. Drag in one breath.
Then another.
Sophie doesn’t belong to me. Well, she does, but she doesn’t know it yet.
I force myself to remain in the car, one hand on the door handle, the other strangling the wheel. I watch as Sophie climbs out of the car. Is it me, or does she look like she’s escaping the guy? She turns to say something over her shoulder to him, then waves, like she doesn’t want to be walked to the door.
The stronzo follows her, though.
He’s a dead man.
Seriously. I’m going to kill him.
Sophie opens the door and pushes in, not waiting for the dolt following her. Again she turns and gives him a wave, but he’s jogging toward her.
A low growl issues from my throat, like I’m a doberman pinscher guarding a bone.
She stops, fully faces him. Says something. He–fuck no–tries to kiss her.
I’m out of the car, walking swiftly to them without thinking. “Hands off,” I growl as Sophie twists away from her date, trying to avert her lips from his mouth.
“What? Who the fuck are you?” the guy demands.
“Oh no.” Sophie’s eyes round as she sees me coming. I know what she sees. A guy about to commit murder with his bare hands. I should really dial it back.
Right now.
Before I permanently fuck things up between us.
“Who is this guy?” her date demands.
“I’m the guy telling you to leave now.” I arrive at the bottom of the steps and force myself to stay there. To not put my hands on him yet. He gets one chance. “I’m only gonna tell you once,” I say in a low voice. “After that, you’re gonna be bleeding all over this sidewalk.”
“This is the someone new I told you about. So yeah, you should go.” Sophie’s voice sounds strangled.
I don’t take my gaze from the stronzo on the step with her. Even though I’m giving him room to walk down the stairs and leave here unscathed, I make sure he feels my threatening glare right down to his bones.
He moves. Skitters down the steps like a fucking cockroach, mumbling something to Sophie that I can’t hear above the roaring in my ears.
I’m only slightly mollified by her words. This is the someone new I told you about.
I was part of the conversation, at least.
I wait until the guy’s in his car and driving away before I stalk up the stairs.
Sophie folds her arms across her chest. “What are you doing here? You can’t just show up at my place and bark at the men who take me out.”
I reach past her and turn the handle then push the door open. “You said you were out with friends.”
“You can’t check up on me. I don’t owe you anything.” Her words are bold, but she backs into her place as I advance.
“You don’t owe me the truth? That you’re seeing someone else?”
I need my hands on her. I need my hands on her so badly. I settle them lightly on her waist, continuing to walk her backward, toward her bedroom.
“O-okay, maybe I owed you that. I’m sorry. I ended things with him tonight–not because of you,” she adds.
“Not because of me?” I slide one hand up the back of her shirt, needing to feel her skin. I’m gratified to note that she’s not wearing a sexy short skirt like she wore for me. She’s in jeans and a fitted shirt. Nothing sexy. No apparent effort put in.
“It was just a date,” she says. “I made it before we—before I met you. And I just wanted to tell him in person I couldn’t see him anymore. That’s all. I haven’t slept with—I mean been with anyone since we...”