Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
The ground vibrated with footfalls beneath my ballet flats and I spun to face him. Somehow, I knew it was him. The hum of my skin, the glow of my heart. His cells spoke to mine in a way I would never understand. “Hi.”
Arthur stepped closer, an imposing statue of muscle and authority. He shook his head, his lips twisted in wry amusement watching his dinner go up in smoke. “Can’t trust anyone these days.”
I swayed into him as his arm brushed mine. “Who names the members here? Matchstick, Beetle? They’re hardly scary.”
His green eyes smoldered in the gloom. “I was the one who gave Beetle his name, actually.” He smirked. “I found him shoplifting at one of my businesses.” His eyes clouded, recalling the past while I’d been curing puppies and dreaming of him. “His getaway car was a dinged up Beetle. Needless to say, I outran him on my bike and put an end to that fucking nonsense. After a bit of a rough-up—so he would remember the lesson of ‘thou shalt not steal’—I gave him a choice.”
“A choice?”
He nodded. “Stop stealing and make money my way or I’d report him to the law and see how he liked jail.” His gaze glinted. “I might also have provided insider knowledge on just how much he wouldn’t enjoy captivity.”
My mind reeled. There was so much to unscramble, but the most important slapped me in the face. “I heard Molly mention other businesses in Church. What do you mean?”
Arthur smiled, his teeth white and perfect in the night. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
I scowled, not appreciating his obtuse merriment at hiding yet another thing about himself. “No, you didn’t tell me.” Putting my hands on my hips, I looked him up and down.
Arthur had evolved from boy to businessman with endless connections and wealth to bring everything to life. No wonder Wallstreet chose him—he saw the potential, even after Arthur had been destroyed.
“Well, I can tell you now.” He gathered me close, tucking me against his side. “Believe me, Buttercup. The only things you need to know about me—you already do. The rest of it—the businesses, the trading, the Club—none of that makes me who I am.” Leaning closer, his eyes tripped into mine. “Only you can do that. And I’m the man I am because of the girl you were.”
My heart pounded. The gentle warmth of him softened my every molecule. After the meeting, I’d been tense and slightly unnerved about what plans were about to be implemented. And after calling Corrine, I’d been homesick and—if I was honest—guilty for how I’d run away. But all of that disappeared—that was the magic of his embrace.
Somehow, with just one touch from him, energy, excitement, and most of all lust rejuvenated me all over again.
“Besides,” Arthur said. “Everything I’ve created belongs to you anyway.”
Following the silver thread of the Pure Corruption logo on his breast pocket, I bit my lip. “I don’t want it. Everything belongs to you—not us.”
Arthur chuckled. “Buttercup, I earn a fortune with one click of my mouse.” Tapping his temple, his smile faltered just for a second. “This machine up here has meant I’ve been able to fulfill everything Wallstreet has ever asked and create a buffer for myself so if anything changes in the future, I’ll be able to survive.”
I cuddled into him, hating the sudden bleakness in his voice at the thought of things changing. Yet another family torn from him. Another choice taken. Of never having his full capacity back from the concussion. His thoughts led him somewhere dark; I needed to bring him back to the light. “You’re a mathematical whiz. I always knew you were destined for great things.”
His eyes shadowed. “Try telling that to my father back then. He thought I was a fucking pussy.”
I tensed. I couldn’t talk about Rubix without wanting to murder the son of a bitch. Forcing him out of my mind, I rested my head on his chest. “You’re changing the subject so I don’t find out just how wealthy you are and then cook up plans to divorce you and take half.”
He went still.
The whoosh of air in his lungs echoed in my ear. I flinched. Did he take it the wrong way? I hadn’t meant it—not at all. I would never do that to him.
“To divorce me means you have to marry me first.”
Slowly, I untangled myself from him, staring into his eyes. “Not these days. De facto counts as marriage in legal purposes.”
His face fell.
God, why did I say that? Why did I say such a stupid thing? It made it sound like I didn’t want to get married. That my heart hadn’t selected him since I was born. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m …” I glanced away. “I’m nervous, I guess.”