Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
He doesn’t.
But he doesn’t open it either.
Just stares at it blankly. Then he grabs it, those veiny hands flexing on the lid, and starts to get up.
“You could’ve told me you were paying me a visit last night and I would’ve dressed up for the occasion. Unless…you wanted to see me half naked?”
He stops mid-rise, sits back down, and tilts his head in my direction. The blue of his eyes has subtly darkened and sharpened with a haunting edge.
I’m not used to this type of expression from Creighton. Indifference is the most I get from him, but this?
It’s like he’s picturing the best way to snap my neck.
Heat rises up my neck and to my ears, and I push down the tinge of fear that’s gnawing on my insides.
I try to maintain my smile. “I know it was you. See, I might not have great attention to detail, but your eyes kind of gave you away. Don’t worry, Jeremy is none the wiser. He did suspect that someone came into my room, but I was able to derail his attention and—”
One moment I’m talking, the next a hand slams against my mouth.
Like last night.
He physically jerks me sideways so that my back hits the wooden pillar of the gazebo.
Only, this time, it’s his bare hand on my mouth and I’m breathing straight through his fingers. Gone is the scent of soot and leather. Right now, he smells like clean clothes out of the dryer mixed with his natural spicy scent.
“What do you want?”
His question takes me off guard. Not just because he spoke in that gravelly, deep, and hot British accent, but also due to the fact that he thinks I’m telling him all this because I want something.
“Mmm,” I mumble against his hand.
“I’ll only let you talk if you tell me what you want. If you chatter on, I’m going to shut you up again.”
I nod once and he releases my mouth slowly. Though instead of stepping back, he remains so close, it’s hard to breathe properly.
Sometimes, I think he knows exactly what type of effect he has on people—and me—and still does this on purpose.
He still barges in uninvited with the sole intention of leaving a trail of devastation behind.
“Why did you come to the Heathens’ mansion last night? Why did you burn the annex house? I didn’t think you had a problem with the club or its members. You’re not even part of the Elites, so it doesn’t make sense that you would want to do that, right?”
He reaches his palm out again, but I put both my hands up. “Okay, okay. There’s no need to shut me up, but I can’t tell you what I want unless you confess the reason.”
He stares at me. Blankly. His ‘no’ is obvious.
I sigh. “Then I guess I’ll tell Jeremy about how you not only burned his property but also snuck into his sister’s room. Le sigh. I can’t guarantee he won’t be all savage.”
“If you wanted to tell him, you would’ve already.” The calm, rich timbre of his voice echoes around me like a song.
The one that haunts my waking and sleeping moments.
“I only wanted to give you a chance, and I did, but you chose not to take it. That’s just sad. One last chance to change your mind?”
“Tell him.”
“You…you’re bluffing.”
“You are.”
“W-what?”
“You hate conflict so much that you hide from it like Little Miss Ostrich. That’s also why you didn’t let that guard come in last night, then covered for me. It’s completely out of character for you to personally create conflict, so yes, you’re bluffing, Annika.”
My lips fall open.
Oh. My. Tchaikovsky.
Please tell me I’m not dreaming and that he actually said a whole paragraph. Oh, and he knows this much about me.
I didn’t think he really knew anything about me, let alone my character.
Maybe I underestimated just how attuned to details he is.
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to tell me the reason yet. We’ll get to that someday.” I link and unlink my fingers on my lap. “But you asked me what I want, right?”
He raises his brows, and why the hell is such a simple gesture enough to trigger a flutter in my stomach?
As if that’s not enough, a little part of me is whispering, whining, and absolutely grouching about where I’m going with this.
It’s wrong and you know it.
You’ll only get him in trouble and regret it.
But I can’t just ignore the other part, the one that’s yearning, living on borrowed air and needing to feel what it’s like to be alive.
To not just pretend I’m living, popular, and loved, but to actually breathe life into my sheltered existence.
Still, my voice comes out small, unsure. “I want you to spend an hour with me every day. Alone.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, anything. Talking, just sitting here, reading, eating, maybe go shopping…” He scowls and I backtrack. “No shopping, got it. We can watch a movie.”