Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Arthur,” I said, needing to hear something from him, anything. He barely spoke, and it was driving me insane. He turned to me. “Thank you.” He nodded as if what he had done was nothing. As if killing four men wasn’t a huge deal, just an everyday part of his life.
Judging by the rumours about his firm, that might have been true.
I took a sip of my whisky, feeling the heat from the spirit coat my throat. It also gave me the courage to say, “You killed those men.” Arthur didn’t react to my words; they rolled off him as breezily as if I’d mentioned it was warm outside. “You killed them, Arthur … and what you did to the last man, with the glass …”
Arthur watched me carefully and said, his voice neutral, “I’ve done worse, princess.”
Princess …
Despite the endearment, blood drained from my face. “No, I don’t believe that …” Arthur walked over and crouched in front me. His blue eyes searched mine. They were a dark kind of blue, almost navy, a unique colour that suited his dark, mysterious personality. Like the sky at dusk before the darkness came and smothered it with the black of night.
“Believe it, princess.” He studied my face, lifting the ice pack back to my cheek. I hissed at the cold, but he held my hand in place regardless. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but trace the movement with my eyes. He’d licked his lips at my house five years ago, a silly habit of his I’d always remembered. I was as transfixed by it now as I was then.
Arthur took a sip of his gin. “Everything you’ve heard about me and my men will probably be true.” His lip curled a fraction—a flicker of amusement, or maybe pride. “What you’ve heard about my entire family will also no doubt be true. In fact …” He tilted his head to the side as he pushed a strand of hair back from my face. I held my breath at the action. “We’ve done worse than you’ve imagined.” Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “A lot fucking worse.”
“You’re only eighteen, like me,” I said, dumbly, as if that would somehow make him innocent. I shook my head, trying to sort my thoughts into what I wanted to say, what I wanted to know. “I mean, you’re too young. And those men tonight … it was easy for you. Killing them.” His blank expression only confirmed that to be true. “And the last man. What you made him do to himself …”
Arthur released my hand holding the ice pack and smudged his thumb over my cheek, dragging my skin downwards. The feel of his hand on my face caused my temperature to spike to ungodly degrees. “So innocent,” he said, his warm breath ghosting across my cheek. “A true little princess in an ivory tower.”
I licked my lips. Arthur’s attention snapped to the movement. His addictive scent surrounded me, drowning me, pulling me down to whatever level of hell he resided in. I grew hot, Arthur’s clothes suddenly feeling like a blanket of fire.
My gaze dropped to Arthur’s body, to the skyline of the gothic London Town tattooed across his chest and abdominals. I lifted my hand to his chest; his nose flared as my fingers brushed over his hard pecs. He put his gin down on the floor beside us and placed his hands on either side of me on the sofa.
He was here, before me, cocooning me with his tall, muscled body, a cage of flesh and bone. I trailed my hand off his pecs and down to his abs. Arthur was as calm as he had been in the alley. I had never known anyone be able to mask their responses and feelings as well as he could. No reaction. Nothing seemed to shake him.
I wanted to see him crack.
I wanted to be the one to mine through whatever invisible shield he wore around him.
“Arthur,” I whispered, my hand dipping lower, toward his narrow hips. I saw him harden under his pyjamas. I felt him pressing against my inner thigh as he leaned in even closer. I fought to steady my breathing, wanting to feel every part of him without clothes. Wanting to feel him pushing inside me, his chest pressing against mine as he made me fall apart …
Then my phone rang, breaking the tension pulsing between us. When it was on its fifth ring, Arthur stood and took my phone from my bag. His eyes flared at the screen, and he handed it to me.
I looked at the screen. Ollie. Ollie Lawson was calling. “Ollie?” I said when I answered. A dark storm broke out over Arthur’s features.
It was the first crack in his armour I had witnessed.