Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Jumping into my car, I start the engine and tear out of the parking space, wheels screeching on the concrete. In the rearview mirror, I see the sleek black security guard speed away, following.
London is a bastard for traffic, but I’ve lived here a long time and know the best routes to take. I cut a few red lights, which I never usually do, but I’d do much worse if it meant getting to my woman in time. My Amelia. What if I never see her again and get to explain why I left so abruptly?
Finally, I reach her dreary-looking street, spinning the car around to a screeching stop. The residue of red paint smears the front window, a bucket of blood-colored water sitting beneath it, with the front door partially open. I push the door open, my heart pounding so loud, my instincts firing hotly. Everything tells me I must find and protect the future mother to my children, the woman I will spend the rest of my life with.
“Who are you?” a woman snaps at me, turning from the bottom of the stairs.
She’s a sharp-featured woman, her gray hair tied up.
“Where’s Amelia?” I roar.
The woman flinches, eyes widening as though a tornado has just swept in.
“P-packing,” she says, pointing up the stairs.
I lower my voice, letting out a shaky breath. So she’s alive, then.
“Why?”
“She’s bringing trouble to my house. She has to go. Who are you?”
I ignore her, taking the stairs three at a time, then look up and down the hallway. Amelia’s door is open, and she has her back to me, shoving stuff into a suitcase. She’s trembling, and it breaks my heart.
If those men try to hurt her, I’ll have to become the old Thomas—Tommy. I’d break every bone in the bastard’s body who tried to take my woman from me.
She turns and sees me. Then she starts screaming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amelia
I cut off the screaming, feeling like a dork. I’m just so on edge, and Thomas is the last person I expected to see. He stands in the hallway, looking out of place in his designer running gear, a label on the pec heaving as his powerful chest rises and falls. His hands hang at his sides like weapons, his forearms bulging, his hair seeming shorter and spikier with sweat. He strides into the room, looming over me.
“Where are you going to go?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Somewhere else that people can vandalize. Did Janine tell you?”
“It called me a liar, right?” he says.
“Yes, it did, and I don’t understand why that has anything to do with me. I don’t understand why you showed up yesterday or any of this. Is this some weird billionaire game? What’s happening?”
The questions come out in a machine-gun rush, one quickly following the other.
“I can’t explain here. Keep packing. I need to take you somewhere safe.”
I take a step back, raising my hand. He’s approaching slowly, and I can’t let him get too close. He might grab and kiss me again, and then I won’t even be able to think of any questions, let alone ask them.
“No, tell me now. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He walks right up to me, so close I have to crane my neck to meet his eye. He’s drenched in steamy energy, his chest rising and falling like a machine pumping away, his scent seeming savage. His scent is savage? I really am losing it.
“You’re coming with me,” he growls. “That’s it, no arguments. Pack, now.”
His British accent gets gravelly, almost aggressive. It’s not fear that writhes into me, though maybe it should be, but something else, almost warm, like it’s a good thing he’s telling me what to do.
“What if I say no?” Folding my arms, I give him my best glare. “What if I say I’d rather find my own place to stay? What if I tell you I find this all very creepy?”
It’s the word Emma used, and I snapped at her.
“You could’ve arranged this message just to freak me out, to make me go with you.”
He darts his hand out and squeezes onto my hip. I gasp in a mixture of surprise and titillation, even as a commentary track in my mind says, “This forceful physical contact should probably freak you out.”
“Pack. Now.”
I could tell him no. He won’t force me to go with him, will he? He’s not going to drag me from the house, but I’m not so sure as he squeezes harder—possessively, as if he wants nobody else to touch me. There my mind goes again, a life of its own as if he never wants to touch…
“I’m doing this for your own good,” he snaps, stepping away and gesturing at my suitcase.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Some bad men think they can get to me by getting to you.”