Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I snort unattractively and give him the finger, making him laugh as he slams the door and the cab pulls away. Getting my key in the lock proves tricky. I close one eye and zero in on my target, but each time I hit the wood to the side, chipping at the paintwork. ‘In you go,’ I slur, getting up close and personal with my door, my tongue hanging out a little in concentration.
‘You’re not doing very well there, are you?’
I jump and whirl around, just barely managing to keep my balance, and find Jack standing behind me.
I smile brightly and point at him. ‘Well, if it isn’t the married man himself!’ I sing, and then slap a clumsy hand over my mouth to silence myself, giggling like an idiot. ‘Oopsie,’ I say into my palm. I might be drunk, but he definitely scowls at me, and I even manage to find the sense to be offended by it. ‘Did you just scowl at me, Jack Joseph?’
‘You’re drunk,’ he mutters, coming towards me. My challenged vision runs a sluggish check over him, finding him looking delightful in some battered old jeans and an old grey T-shirt, his biceps bulging.
‘Yes.’ I stagger a little, my back meeting the door. ‘I am drunk. And it’s not your concern.’
He takes the top of my arm and moves me to the side, prising my key from me and opening the door. A deep warmth penetrates my skin, making me look down on a frown to where he’s got hold of me. ‘Why does that happen?’ I ask my arm.
‘What?’ he mutters, irritated. He’s in a mood. I laugh hysterically on the inside. What, has he had a row with his wife again? Good! I hope she’s figured out that he’s a cheating arsehole.
‘I go all funny whenever you touch me.’ I shudder on the spot, and he looks at me as he pushes my door open.
‘“Funny” isn’t the word I’d use.’
‘What word would you use, then?’ I challenge, pulling my arm free, but it’s soon claimed again when my hasty withdrawal has me staggering backwards.
‘I’m not having this conversation with you when you’re drunk.’ He guides me into the hallway, following.
‘No, you’d better get back to your wife.’ I laugh, snatching my arm back and slumping against the wall.
‘Stop it, Annie,’ he warns, placing a palm on the wall next to my head and leaning in close. Too close. ‘Why haven’t you answered any of my e-mails or calls?’
‘Because I want nothing to do with you,’ I spit, making him recoil, shocked. He has a nerve.
‘Stop fucking lying to me.’
I drink in air, searching for some poise before I slap him. Too late. My arm flies out clumsily, but I miss his cheek by a mile, my arm ricocheting off his shoulder. He doesn’t even jolt, whereas I lose my footing and stumble forward awkwardly. ‘I hate you,’ I snipe as he catches me in his arms, cursing under his breath. ‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!’
‘Shut up, Annie,’ he seethes, lifting me off my feet. ‘Don’t ever fucking try to hit me again.’
‘Why?’ I snap, wriggling to break free.
‘Because it doesn’t suit you.’
As we pass through my bedroom door, the sight of my bed makes me start squirming more, but Jack just holds on tighter. ‘Get off me!’ I begin to flail my arms, but they have no effect on him as he strides across my room with me locked tightly to his body.
‘Cut it out,’ he warns, a threatening edge to his tone.
‘No!’
He lowers me to my arse on the bed, but I’m scrambling back up a second later, getting up in his face. It’s a bad move. This close, his gorgeous features make me even dizzier. I slam my eyes closed and lose my footing again, plummeting to the bed. I’m a mess. Useless. Pathetic.
‘Just go,’ I plead, burying my face in my palms to hide from him. ‘Leave me alone.’
My stomach lunges, and my mouth becomes watery. Oh no. I jump up from the bed and make a mad dash for the bathroom, banging into everything on my way, whether it’s blocking my path or not. I hang my head over the toilet and throw up on long, loud retches.
‘Oh God,’ I groan, going limp around the bowl, clinging to it with weak arms.
I feel fingers weave through my hair and pull it away, and a warm palm smoothes across my back. Slumped over the toilet, I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. ‘Please don’t hate me,’ he murmurs.
I black out.
Chapter 12
You know it’s going to be a bad one when your head is throbbing and you’ve not even lifted it off the pillow. And your body hurts when you try to move and get comfy in your bed. And your mouth is drier than the driest desert, but you can’t figure out if you’d prefer to remain unmoving and put up with the dehydration, or attempt to get to the kitchen in search of water and risk throwing up on the way. This is a bad one. Maybe the worst I’ve ever had, and that’s an achievement since I’ve not even got up yet.