Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Rather than handing me a key, he takes my hand in his. Not wanting to be rude after he’s been so generous, I keep it there but let it hang loosely. No matter how much I want to bend my fingers and grip his hand the way he’s gripping mine I keep my fingers straight. I don’t want to think about how comforting the simple touch is.
He walks to a door just a few yards from the lobby and opens it with the key card the clerk apparently gave him. He lets the door swing open and stands out of the way so I can enter first. A biker with manners? Not a stereotype I would have imagined.
“Well, thank you,” I say turning back to him to find him walking into the room as well. I stiffen. “I’ll pay you back for the room.”
“Nonsense,” he says closing the door behind him.
“What are you doing?” I ask hesitantly as he begins to pull his leather vest off.
He angles his head like he’s confused. “Getting comfortable.”
I shove my hands in my pocket and take a step back. “Umm… shouldn’t you be doing that in your room?”
He chuckles softly, sits on the chair in the corner, and begins to unlace his boots. “This is my room, darlin’.”
“Like hell!” I belt out without thinking. I clamp my hand over my mouth and take another step back. My back hits the wall, and suddenly I feel like a cornered animal.
The smile on his face fades when he sees me. His hands move from the laces of his boots to his knees as he leans back in the chair.
“Emmalyn.” He clamps his lips together before continuing. “I’m going to sleep in this chair.” He pats the arms with his big hands. “And you’re going to sleep on that bed.” He points to the huge bed on the far wall.
I’d argue with him, but arguing has only caused me more pain in the past. I’m well aware that this man is not Robert Mikaelson, but Bobby is not the only man on the Earth to ever hit a woman.
“I don’t even know your name,” I whisper as if this will make him change his mind and leave the room.
He stands from the chair and slowly gets within arm’s reach of me. Holding out his hand he says, “My name is Diego Anderson. Most people call me Kincaid.”
I quickly shake his warm hand and pull mine back.
“Kincaid?” I ask with a drawn brow.
“It’s my road name,” he explains as he sits back down and begins to work on the laces of his boots again.
“What should I call you?” I walk toward the bed and sit tentatively on the edge.
He follows me with his eyes, his hands still on his boots.
“Anything you like,” he says with a wink.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not having sex with you.”
His smile grows, but he doesn’t respond.
“If that’s your expectation because you paid for this room, then I should just go.” I stand and begin to walk toward the door.
He leans deeper into the chair. “You want me to give you a ride home?”
I cut my eyes to him quickly, knowing I’m going to find a shitty ‘this or that’ look on his face.
His smile is gone, and the look on his face seems sad, but I’m not a hundred percent sure of the other emotions that are flickering there.
“So that’s the deal? Have sex with you or you take me back to my husband?” I feel the sting of threatening tears behind my eyes.
I see what is no doubt anger flash in his eyes. Leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees, he narrows his eyes at me. “I would never coerce a woman to have sex with me. You’re not safe at home. I know that. You know that. But you sure as hell aren’t safe leaving this room and wandering around in the middle of the night.”
I cower slightly. I can tell he’s angry at the situation and not me, but I’m well aware of how quickly people can divert their anger.
“You have no reason to be afraid of me, Emmalyn, but I understand that you’re leery. There’s no telling how long you’ve had to question each word that has come out of your mouth, wonder about each and every action and what kind of reaction it may cause from that asshole husband of yours. That guy,” he says pointing out the door. “I’m not that guy. I’d never hit a woman. I’d never hurt a woman, and that includes giving one an ultimatum to have sex with me.”
My nerves calm slightly at his words.
“You’ll sleep in that bed, and I’ll sleep on this chair,” he repeats.
I know I can’t go home. Ever.
I drop my hands in defeat by my side and walk back over to the bed. After kicking my own shoes off, I crawl under the covers and keep my eyes on him. Once he’s finished with his own boots he heads into the restroom, but I keep my eyes on the door and watch him wearily as he settles back down on the chair across the room. It doesn’t look comfortable, but that’s not my problem.