Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he admits, a wry smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “God knows I should’ve walked away. I should’ve stopped what I was doing the night I saw you in the kitchen.”
His chest rises and falls in a sigh. “But I didn’t. I couldn’t even if I tried.” Pulling me closer until our breaths mingle, he whispers, “There’s something about you I haven’t been able to turn away from. That I can’t let go of, that I don’t want to lose.”
“I know what you mean.” That was tough to admit, but the raising of his brow—like he’s happy to hear it—makes it worthwhile and gives me more courage to continue. “I’ve been telling myself it’s wrong, and I should stay away from you. I knew it was wrong that night when I found you on the patio, and then everything fell apart that night on your desk. But ever since then, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about you.”
Now that I’ve started, it’s easier to tell him everything I’ve been bottling up all these years. “I’ve wanted you for so long, but… I always told myself you would only see me as a little girl.”
There is a tinge of regret in his chuckle. “I only wish I could see you like that. It would make all of this a lot easier.”
My heart’s ready to explode, my pussy dripping, and all he’s doing is touching my face. I’m gripped with confusion; my questions, doubts, and yearning swirl around until I don’t know which way is up. I trust Callum. I want him. So badly. But I’m still conflicted. We need to talk about his reaction from the other night. Was it fear, or was he trying to push me away?
Suddenly, the vulnerability hits me, and I’m overcome with the need to hide myself, like that will protect me from the intensity of what we’re exploring. I reach around him, grabbing for the nightshirt I left on the bed before getting in the shower.
He waits until I’ve pulled the oversized shirt over my head and thrust my arms through the sleeves before speaking. “Whose shirt is that?”
I should lie. I don’t want to ruin the moment we’re having by bringing Lucas up, but the tone of his voice bridges no excuse. I’d only make it worse by lying.
“It’s his, isn’t it?” he answers for me. Disgust drips from his voice—and anger, which gets my heart pounding all over again.
I nod, gulping. “I should’ve gotten rid of it, maybe burned it, but I was in such a hurry to pack everything and get out of there. I had to get away from the memories. I didn’t think to throw it out.”
I can’t believe how guilty I feel when I haven’t done anything wrong. “And I always use big T-shirts as nightgowns,” I add, like that’s going to help things. “It’s just a shirt.”
The silence stretches between us, and I shiver beneath his gaze. Callum is completely still, down to his stony expression. Damn, Lucas. He finds a way to ruin everything, even when he’s not a part of it.
My heart’s on the verge of giving out by the time his hand shoots out like a striking snake. It curls around my throat and lifts every hair on my body with the slightest pressure.
“I am going to destroy that shirt.” He speaks slowly, carefully enunciating, while his grip tightens.
I don’t know what game this is. I only know it’s unnerving and exciting, the way he slides out of one mood and into another out of nowhere. I never know what’s coming next. I yelp in surprise when he releases my throat and wraps an arm around my waist, lifting me and placing me over his shoulder. At first, I imagine him throwing me onto the bed, but he marches toward the door instead.
“Where are we going?” I squeak out as he carries me down the hall.
I really hope nobody sees us, like his guards or his cook. Tatum can’t find out. No matter what happens.
He doesn’t seem to care about any of that as he continues carrying me through to his side of the second floor. “Our bed.”
Our bed? “What does that mean?” My head is already spinning, thanks to hanging over Callum’s shoulder and how suddenly this is all happening. He had to go and add a twist that makes my heart race and my breath come short. Our bed.
I barely get a good look at the large, masculine room with its dark wood furnishings before he sets me on the king-size bed. The silk duvet is soft against my bare legs, and the scent of his spicy cologne hangs in the air. I want to wrap myself up in it.
Fear and anticipation singe my nerves, and it freezes me solid when he takes the neck of the shirt in both hands—tearing it open, shredding the thin cotton. My heart jumps, and my nipples pebble when the cold air hits them.