Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
"Serial kisser!"
****
Although a week had already passed, it only seemed like yesterday when Rathe had to play nursemaid to Saffi's enceinte fish. And now here he was again, paying the continued consequences of his endlessly losing streak in poker, but this time as a glorified supervisor while his team went to work at carefully packing Saffi's treasure hoard of fangirl stuff.
This job of his could've been more bearable if he had been tasked to oversee the careful packing of priceless art or something equally valuable. But instead, he had been instructed to make sure that Saffi's beloved posters were not to suffer from a single crease.
Why the fuck did these posters still matter when Saffi had already married the rockstar she had been crushing on?
The thought had a faint grimace twist over his lips, but his expression soon turned icy when he overheard female students talking about him.
That's the serial killer.
I heard Mary call him that, for real!
Oh my gosh, is he really a serial killer?
The duke had been mistaken for a lot of things in the past. A Hollywood celebrity for one. A super-fucking-model and even as a goddamn prince. But this was Rathe's first time to be mistaken as the next Ted Bundy.
While a part of him was sorely tempted to strangle Mary for starting such rumors about him, albeit unintentionally, the moment he knocked on her room, and he heard her hesitantly call him in—-
Fuck.
One look at her, and Rathe just wanted her all over again.
It didn't matter if she was eighteen to his thirty-four.
Didn't fucking matter if the two of them being together would mean history repeating itself in the worst possible way.
He looked at her, and he wanted her.
He wanted to fuck her hard. Fuck her until she belonged to him completely. Fuck her endlessly even...until her belly was round with his child.
But even though he wanted all of those things—-
He would not...and could never act on his desires.
She was not for him and never would be.
And the sooner he was out of her life, the better for both of them.
Chapter Two
Mary felt a thousand times more intimidated now that she knew exactly who her serial kisser was. Camille had been very informative when helping Mary hop to her bed without further injuring her ankle, and Mary could only listen in increasingly appalled silence.
England's #1 Heartthrob.
The only member of the Pussketeers who's single and available.
A descendant of the Iron Duke himself!
Camille had also quickly whispered to her how European tabloids often described Rathe as a 'cold fish', which even Mary knew was a term used for men or women lacking in sexual appetite. And that totally made no sense in any way.
The man who had kissed her at first sight could not be a cold fish.
At all!
But the man presently standing next to her bed now, asking if she was alright in a chillingly polite voice with an even chillier British accent?
Now this version of Rathe Wellesley was definitely a cold fish, and as much as Mary found this version of his incredibly intimidating—-
She owed him an apology, and so Mary took a deep breath and struggled to get the words out.
"I'm s-so s-sorry about earlier. I d-didn't mean for people to...to mistake you for..."
Her voice trailed off, and Rathe's attention was drawn to how Mary started wringing her hands on her lap.
Mary urged herself to try once more. "I'm s-sorry f-for..."
"Go on," Rathe drawled.
God, it was so hard to say!
Rathe saw Mary draw another deep breath, and he was unable this time to stop himself from staring at the way her magnificently generous tits similarly rose under her blouse.
"I...I...I p-promise I'll let them know they're mistaken!"
It was the best Mary could do.
"Mistaken about what?" Rathe questioned lazily.
Mary could only look at him. She knew she was being a coward...but she was also afraid to admit to anything out loud. What if this man were to have her prosecuted for her very honest mistake? If her stepfather were to find out she was in this much trouble, he would drag her back home, and...and...
I might as well be dead.
Rathe was startled when he suddenly heard her humming under her breath.
Mary froze and felt her face paling when she realized she had unconsciously fallen back in her old ways. There were times Bartholomew had also locked her in the attic as punishment, and her coping mechanism at that time had been to hum her favorite songs...mostly to drown out the terrifying silence...and the equally terrifying sound of rats crawling around in the dark.
"S-Sorry," she mumbled.
Rathe was starting to understand why Saffi and this girl were friends. They were just damn near impossible to understand...and almost equally impossible to resist.
"Under normal circumstances...I'd be inclined to look the other way when someone calls me a serial killer to my face."