Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
That’s all it took to make Samantha mine.
She knows we’re not related, but she thinks I was friends with her father. I could use that line with the reporter, but it sounds like she’s done her homework.
How deep has she been digging?
“I knew her father,” I say, choosing my words with care. I didn’t know him as a friend, but I knew who he was. And I knew everything about him. “He passed without someone to care for her. I felt it was my civic responsibility to step in.”
“Civic responsibility,” the reporter repeats, sounding skeptical.
“That’s right.”
“The demands of raising a child prodigy are not ordinary. She has a famous violinist in his own right living nearby—you covered his expenses and pay a generous salary so she can meet him once a week. You deal with press interviews.” She gives a little smile. “Like this one.”
“It’s no problem.” This press interview is becoming a big problem.
From the smile playing at her lips, she knows it. “It’s interesting that you were unmarried and had no children of your own when you decided to take on this civic responsibility. Had you met Samantha before you became her guardian?”
The question dances perilously close to, Had you met Samantha’s father before you became her guardian? I don’t mind lying to protect Samantha’s privacy, but that might make things worse. It would be possible to confirm that there’s no record of her father and me ever being in the same room together. How much does she know?
I stand up and face the window, which overlooks acres of North property.
“We hadn’t met,” I say without turning.
She was a twelve-year-old with messy brown hair and lost brown eyes. I had been completely out of my depth. It’s a wonder she’s turned out as smart and self-sufficient as she has, but I don’t kid myself. She was mostly grown-up at age twelve.
Terrified and alone, yes. But she already knew how to survive—she’d learned that out of necessity.
Kimberly appears beside me, the sunlight bright on her pale skin. This is the kind of woman I should take to bed. The kind of woman that should make my cock hard. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, that all I can think about is Samantha’s moan.
“That’s interesting,” Kimberly says, her voice low, as if she can see inside me. What would happen if she knew the truth? If she printed the truth in an article? “That the court couldn’t find someone else to care for her. That they trusted you when you didn’t even know her.”
“The world is a stark place,” I say.
There aren’t always people who care about kids. My brothers and I learned that early. Samantha deserves more than that. She deserves all the safety and comfort I can find.
She deserves the truth too, but she’s not getting that.
Kimberly turns so that her body is between mine and the window. She faces me, her breasts brushing my chest through our clothes. “I think you have secrets, Mr. North.”
I’m not sure she’s even aware of it, the choice she’s giving me. I can kiss her. I can fuck this woman right now, and it will be enough to throw her off the scent. She may not realize it, but it’s there, shining in her eyes. She wants oblivion, and my body can give it to her.
Am I willing to do that to protect Samantha’s privacy? Hell yes.
Don’t be so fucking noble, North. You’re not protecting Samantha. You’re protecting yourself.
And it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to have sex with a beautiful woman. Even if she’s not the one I want. Kimberly’s body sways toward me, sensing my deliberation. I catch her and keep her close, feeling her warmth. Why does she do nothing for me? No woman has done it for me. Maybe it’s more than a dry spell.
Maybe I’ve been fundamentally broken.
Except that seeing Samantha makes my blood run hot.
That’s when I decide to do it—I need to fuck this woman if only to prove that I can. If only to prove that Samantha is safe from my baser desires. I’ve always known I’m a fucked-up son of a bitch. That’s why I picked a profession that could get me killed any minute. Someone has to do the job. Might as well be me.
Then Samantha changed everything. For the first time I actually wanted to stay alive.
I never would have shackled a woman to me. Never would have had children of my own, but Samantha… she’s in a different category. The judge granted her custody to me, but from the moment he signed that piece of paper, I belonged to her.
My head lowers. I’m determined to exorcise my sexual demons with this woman who clearly wants this, who can handle it and walk away unscathed. Our lips meet. Every muscle in my body remains as hard and cold as marble. Desperation courses through my veins. How can I keep Samantha safe from this? From me?