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)
Finally. Surely a bathroom has to be down here somewhere.
I trail my fingers along the smooth wall, glancing at the elegant brass handles, debating which door to try first. I reach for one -
And before I can even react, a strong hand wraps around my wrist.
Warm. Firm.
Unrelenting.
A sharp gasp catches in my throat, but before the sound can escape, another hand clamps over my mouth, effectively silencing me.
My pulse slams against my ribs as I’m pulled firm and fast through an open doorway, the world tilting as I stumble backwards.
The door clicks shut behind us, trapping me in sudden, suffocating silence.
Heat. Strength.
Him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Frederic
Caught you.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Poppy
My front slams against the surface of the door, my breath leaving me in a sharp exhale as a solid body presses firmly against my back.
His strong grip tightens around my wrist - not painful, but firm, possessive - while his other hand stays pressed over my mouth.
The heat of his palm seeps into my skin, his fingers splayed wide, controlling and unwavering. My shallow breaths hit against his hand, warm and uneven, the sound muffled and trapped between us.
I freeze, every nerve in my body buzzing, my pulse hammering beneath his touch.
My mind scrambles for clarity, for logic, for anything other than the visceral reaction currently flooding my body.
I don’t know who it is.
I do.
I should be afraid.
I’m not.
Because even in the blur of adrenaline, even with my vision swimming and my nerves on fire, I know.
I know from the heat radiating off him, from the firm grip that isn’t rough, but still unchallenged.
From the scent - clean, sharp, laced with cedar and citrus, expensive and infuriatingly familiar.
From the way my body inexplicably recognises his, even without seeing him.
The air shifts behind me, his shallow breaths ghosting along the curve of my neck.
My stomach twists. My knees feel weak.
He releases his grip.
First, my wrist - his fingers unfurling slowly, deliberately, as if reluctant to let go.
Then, his hand drops from my mouth, the warmth of his palm vanishing like a brand being lifted from my skin.
I suck in a deep, shuddering breath, my chest rising and falling too fast as I try to reorient myself, to grasp hold of the fleeting moment of freedom -
But then I spin, ready to go full-blown self-defense mode.
And he’s still there.
Frederic has stepped back just enough to let me move, but not enough to give me space. His tall, broad frame still looms, the sharp angles of his body caging me in, pressing me between him and the polished wood of the door.
The air crackles.
I should push him. Should shove him away and storm out of this room without looking back.
But I don’t.
Because the look in his eyes is something I haven’t seen before.
Something dark. Something wanting.
And my traitorous body reacts before my brain can catch up - my breath catching, my pulse skittering, my skin prickling with heat.
“What the hell -” I start, but I stop myself from saying anything further.
His blue eyes are darker, sharper, filled with an intensity that sends a hot shiver down my spine. His chest rises and falls deeply, like he’s barely keeping something in check.
And suddenly, I come to the realisation that I’m not in control of this situation.
He is.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice lower than I’ve ever heard it.
I blink. “Like what?”
His hands come up, effectively caging me in as his palms rest against the doorframe on either side of my head.
"Like you’re waiting for me to do something about it.”
I swallow. Hard.
Okay, so maybe my entire body is on fire.
Maybe this is dangerous.
Maybe I should tell him to back off, walk out, never look back.
But I don’t.
His breath brushes my cheek as his lips tilt into something dangerously close to a smirk.
"That’s not -" My voice comes out weaker than I’d like, and I clear my throat, straightening my spine against the door. "That’s not how I’m looking at you."
"No?"
"No," I say, attempting to sound firm. "I’m looking at you like you’re invading my personal space. Again."
He hums, unconvinced. "You’d push me away if you really wanted to."
"Maybe I’m just considering my options."
"Take your time, mon ange," he muses, tilting his head slightly. "I can wait.”
His eyes flicker down to my lips, then back up. Slow. Calculated.
The heat between us is thick, charged.
“You’re one to talk about being able to wait, given that you just abducted me.”
His lips twitch, but I’m not so sure that there’s any real humour in it.
“In my defence, you called me a stalker first.”
“Because you are one,” I grit out.
But my voice isn’t nearly as steady as I want it to be.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
He moves, closing the last sliver of space between us and pressing himself fully against me, his body a wall of heat and strength as he pins me against the door.