Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
The girls shuffle slightly on the couch. I can tell that they’re surprised by my presence and my choice of seat, so they move up, making room for me.
Not that I care. It’s hardly as if I’d be sitting anywhere else.
"Well?" Jacques prods as he leans forwards, looking over the girl who’s still very much draped over his lap. "Are you just going to sit there looking moody, or will you accept our praise?"
I exhale sharply, pasting on a smirk.
"You know me, Jacques. I’m always happy to accept praise," I say smoothly, but my eyes remain on her.
She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she stirs her drink casually, her eyes glued to it - like I’m not even there.
Fucking infuriating.
The group continues chatting, engaging in polite, easy conversation that they pull me into. They congratulate me, and I nod in thanks.
I say the right things, smirk at the right moments, but it’s like being back with the sponsors all over again.
My attention is on her, and her alone.
At some point, the brunette finally moves herself from Jacques’ lap as he heads over to the bar. She sits down beside her friends instead, and the conversation shifts.
"Everything back on track?" one of them asks her.
"He’s making an effort," the brunette says. "So we’ll see."
I take advantage of the new opportunity, closing the space between Poppy and I with an ease that makes her spine stiffen.
My voice drops into something only for her ears.
"What the hell are you playing at?"
Poppy turns her head toward me, blinking up at me like I’ve just accused her of witchcraft.
Wide eyes, parted lips, and an expression of perfect, practiced innocence.
"I don’t know what you mean," she murmurs, her tone sickeningly pleasant.
Too pleasant. Too sweet.
Too fucking smug.
My teeth grind together, my fingers curling against my knee as I fight the urge to wipe that little smirk off her face in the most satisfying way possible.
"I invited you."
"You summoned me," she corrects, her voice just as low, just as taunting. "And I was happy here. With my friends. Plus, I figured you were busy anyway - you being the man of the hour, and all." She tilts her head in a way that’s infuriatingly playful. "So what’s the issue?"
I exhale sharply through my nose, my patience hanging by a fucking thread.
"The issue," I murmur, my voice smooth and sharp as a blade, "is that nobody says no to me."
She arches a single, delicate brow.
"I’m not nobody," she purrs, tilting her chin with a defiance that punches straight to my cock. "And I’m not your little bitch that you get to boss around."
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My fingers twitch against my knee, aching to grip her throat, to bend her over and remind her exactly who the fuck she belongs to.
To fuck every ounce of that insolence right out of her.
Instead, I lean in, my lips brushing dangerously close to her ear, my voice sinking into something that sends a delicious little shiver down her spine.
"You are what I say you are."
Her breath catches, and I smirk.
Gotcha, sweetheart.
"And you’re mine."
I pull back, straightening, and watch her crumble.
She’s silent, her fingers tightening subtly against the hem of her dress, her thighs pressing ever-so-slightly together.
I push to my feet, my presence towering over the group as I reach out my hand - deliberate, unmistakable, and in full view of everyone.
"Come on then, Poppy - let’s go now, before I get pulled into something else."
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp as a blade.
For a moment, she just sits there, glaring, her fingers curled around the stem of her glass, her entire body radiating defiance.
The tension between us crackles - an invisible current, winding tighter and daring her to refuse me.
For a second, I think she will.
I think she might ignore me completely, throw another sweet, sharp-edged smile my way and leave me standing here like a fool.
But then - slowly, purposefully - she places her hand in mine.
The moment her skin touches mine, something hot and possessive coils in my gut.
She rises to her feet, graceful as ever. I watch with careful eyes as she brushes down her dress, her chin lifting slightly in challenge.
Then, turning to her friends, she flashes them a perfectly composed smile.
"I’ll see you soon."
I smirk, squeezing her hand.
That’s right, mon ange.
You can run.
But I’ll always catch you.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Poppy
My pulse roars as Frederic leads me away, his grip firm and unrelenting as he steers me through the sleek corridors.
I should stop him.
I should dig my heels in and demand answers.
I should snap back at him for the way he just claimed me in front of everyone.
But I don’t.
My brain is short-circuiting, my skin is flushed, and my entire body is thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and something far, far more dangerous.
Something hot and needy and impossible to ignore.
What the fuck is wrong with me?!