Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
There it is. There we go.
There’s no denying that I’m afraid, but by now I’ve learned to school the telltale signs so thoroughly, I barely note the shift in my breathing, the increase in my heartbeat, or how my palms grow sweaty.
I lick my lips. “The old-fashioned type, then.”
A glint of something like malice but not quite flickers in his gaze. “You have no idea.”
That should scare me. I’m not quite sure if it does.
He’ll see that I’m not beaten down with words. I’ve learned to let them glide over me, mere smoke in the wind. I’m impervious to threats and insults, thanks to the generosity of my fucked-up family.
Thinks she’s better than everyone.
You disgrace our family name.
Miss High and Mighty.
Filthy piece of trash.
Fucking whore.
Dishonor.
Slut.
I stifle a flinch at the endless barrage of insults that spin in a loop in my brain.
As we drive on in silence, my mind races, a storm of conflict and confusion brewing. His presence, only a hair away from me, unnerves me. The cold stab of his glare sends a shiver down my spine — an indecipherable blend of fear and excitement.
I chide myself for allowing even the slightest hint of unwanted attraction between us.
We stare at each other, something untold hanging in the air between us. The front of the car dips when we hit a rough patch of road, but the car effortlessly glides as if we’re riding on a magic carpet, until we hit a bump and lurch forward. Wordlessly, he holds my forearms to steady me. I use the opportunity to do more questioning.
“So you live in The Cove. Like…alone? Or with people?”
His voice, laced with an unmistakable Russian accent, is commanding yet somehow sexy. “I have a staff of seven.”
Staff. He has a staff of seven. I’m curious. We’ve already entered into rare territory.
Seven is a good number, though. At least one might be persuaded to be on my side…
“Why do you need a staff? Can’t clean your own toilets?”
A smirk shows a flash of a dimple. “Now you know why I had to get a wife.”
I feel my jaw unhinge as a satisfying smirk spreads across his face.
No. He. Did. Not.
“Just make sure you don’t ask me to make you a sammich,” I say with scorn, shifting back in my seat.
The low sound of his dark chuckle is a bit unnerving, if I’m honest. I know how to handle a backhand or a derisive comment, a shove into a closet or worse. I know what it’s like to be treated like an object, ignored, and discarded.
But cold laughter that makes you shiver is another thing. Deceiving in its simplicity, masked to hide the danger he wears like a shroud.
I imagine the look of horror that would be on my mother’s face if she were here right now. She’d hiss at me in that shrill voice that drove me mad. Harper Lee Bianchi!
She can fuck all the way off. Harper Lee Bianchi’s just had her ass dragged out of her home and shoved into a luxury car with a man who has danger leaking out of his pores. I’m not given permission to sweat, much less fight, on a good day, never mind when my entire universe has spun on its axis. I need a minute.
Disgrace.
Disgust.
Whore.
I grit my teeth and look out the window, surprised to find the view a bit blurry. I’m not a crier. Why now?
For a while, he doesn’t talk at all. He’s on his phone, casually scrolling through with a look of intense concentration. I left my own phone behind, but a part of me’s actually relieved I did. There’s no more expectation of keeping up the appearance of perfection with every selfie and post if I don’t have my phone.
When my mother discovered that social media could be profitable, she made up her mind. They needed money, and I had a pretty face. She researched everything she could, and the next thing I knew, I was a social media sensation.
I hate it. So I’m glad to leave that part of my life behind.
Phones are disposable, like so many other things. Clothes. Feelings. Daughters, apparently.
Do you have any other daughters?
It would actually get under my skin if I didn’t guess that’s exactly why he said it.
“We’re almost home,” he says, still holding his phone. “Come here.”
The sound of his voice is like the shimmering surface of a lake I swam in as a child. Placid and calm, but beneath the surface, the frigid depths of the water pulled with a current that could sweep you off your feet and drag you under.
I will not be pulled under.
“Come here? We’re in the back of a car. How much closer do you want me to come?”
A dangerous glint in his gaze tells me he’s not amused. “Do I need to show you exactly how much closer I expect you to come?” Leaning toward me, his voice drops to a low register. “And I will expect you to come, Princess.”