Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
And I can’t imagine that so much raw hurt spilling out of him could ever be delusion and nothing else.
That’s the thing.
When people tell big lies, they’re either crazy or doing it for some selfish benefit. They wouldn’t tell lies that could mean ridicule or exile.
Sometimes when people tell you things that are hard to believe, knowing they’ll get serious backlash for it, they’re telling the truth. Or at least telling you what they truly believe, damn the consequences.
If nothing else, Lucas believes what he’s told me—sincerely and honestly, with absolute faith. He’s not lying to me.
As for whether it’s true...
I hate that I’m leaning toward yes.
It sucks when the Arrendells have been nothing but kind to me.
But there’s being eccentric.
Then there’s the kind of scary weirdness that sets off my senses until my skin crawls.
Suddenly I remember Ulysses standing between me and his father. Montero looking at me with cold, possessive eyes, and Ulysses blocking me with his body like he was quietly signaling to his father.
No.
Not this one, old man.
You can’t have her.
Even with Lucas’ body heat, I suppress the chill sweeping up my spine.
Something’s not right with that family.
I don’t think it’s just my infatuation with Lucas talking, either.
I nuzzle his shoulder, skimming my fingers down his arm, following the thick, hard shape of his biceps.
His muscles are so sharply defined, all harsh angles softened by veins like rivers branching over his flesh.
He lets out a lazy growl, the only sound between us save for our breath and the chattering birds outside.
His lips press into my hair, his arms tightening around me again.
“Lilah, fuck. What are we doing?” he growls. “Just a few days ago, I could’ve sworn you hated me.”
“A few days ago, I could’ve sworn I hated you, too.” I smile. “I don’t know, Lucas. I don’t know what this is. But you make me feel good, and that’s no easy accomplishment.”
He smiles.
“I want you feeling safe with me constantly, woman,” he answers softly. “I want you knowing I’ll never let anything happen to you. I know a damn hell of a lot has been stalking you around ever since you got here, but I swear—I swear I’ll get to the bottom of this, Lilah. No one’s threatening you again.”
“Lucas.” I touch his cheek, grazing his dark stubble that tickles me so deliciously. “You don’t have to make that your responsibility.”
Honestly, I don’t want to be just his responsibility.
I don’t want him to be here in my bed purely because he feels like he has to guard me, to stop what happened to Celeste Graves from happening to me.
But I don’t know how to say that when the words knot up inside me.
I hate that it’s so hard for me to admit something vulnerable, to squeeze emotion past my pride.
There must be something on my face, in my voice, though.
Lucas pulls back, looking down at me with his green eyes set like shining emerald.
“It’s not responsibility to protect someone you care about,” he rumbles. “It’s what any man would do.”
“Oh?” I raise both brows with an amused sound, failing to hide the red flush that goes through me. “So you don’t think a woman would, too? Let me tell you something, Lucas Graves.” I press a fingertip lightly against his chest. “I’d gladly bash someone over the head with a frying pan if they were trying to hurt you. Possibly a coffeepot. A blender. Whatever appliances hurt most, really.”
“Yeah?” With a husky chuckle, he captures my hand and kisses my fingertips. “So you’re saying you care about me enough to crack some heads?”
“Hey now. Don’t get carried awa—”
My alarm clock cuts me off, flashing 6:00 a.m. from the nightstand with a shrill beeping.
My heart turns over sharply—not with surprise, but with the stark realization of what day it is.
Oh, no.
I start pushing at Lucas again, this time in earnest.
“Oh crap, crap,” I gasp, wriggling out of his arms. “I gotta go! It’s the first day of school and I can’t be late.”
Lucas sprawls there lazily—and for a heady second I can’t help but soak in his animal charm.
There’s too much grace to call him bulky, those broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long, well-toned legs.
Still sleepy, his spring-colored eyes glow beneath thick, decisive, arrogant brows, just as cocky as the curve of his full mouth.
There’s just something about the way he looks with his black hair still tangled from sleep, wild and loose instead of neatly combed like it is while he’s on duty.
Sweet Jesus.
A terrible part of me wants to crawl right back into bed with him. But the rest of me buzzes with adrenaline until I feel like a hummingbird.
I can’t wait to meet my kids.
After drinking in one more look while he watches me with heated eyes like he knows what I’m thinking, I tumble out of bed.