Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
The house has a whole different vibe tonight, angrier and darker than anything I’ve felt since I came home. Tension so thick it tastes like sulfur.
Dad finally talked Evie down after Chris stormed out. I listened in on their pained conversation in the other room for over an hour before she crawled into bed.
The whole episode left my jaw on the floor for—honestly, I’ve lost track of how many times.
I don’t know how I let Chris touch me without completely freaking.
That hug in front of our parents was bad enough, but his hand gliding down my back, the not-so-subtle brush of our bodies, the way he pinched my thigh...
Hello, stepbrother, you moody stack of ass.
My arrogant, demanding, sinfully sexy stepbrother.
What are the odds?
What have I done to piss off the universe so badly?
His touch hurt as much as it ignited me.
Nothing but a cruel reminder of what we’d lost tonight by fate screwing us over like this. But I still don’t understand.
Why, for the love of God, did he have to rub it in?
Literally rub it.
I’m stuck on his hand under the table, riding up my skirt. His searching fingers made me paralyzed with lava in my veins.
So rude.
So brash.
So atrociously tempting.
I’m not even sure what was worse—the screaming urge to jam a fork in his face or the insane thought that I should just sit back and let his fingers roam higher.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows he’s still here in his room, too.
A little while ago, I heard him banging around behind my wall. Almost like he was throwing something heavy.
Why Evie practically made us roommates, I’ll never understand.
This house has eight more empty guest rooms on different levels. Plenty of places for precious space from this maniac who’s dead set on upending my life.
My fingers flutter across the screen, returning to his number.
Chris McFire.
That’s what I named his contact in my dorky, just-kissed wisdom after our little collision on the beach.
Now, it isn’t cute or funny at all.
Now, the entire planet is giving me the middle finger, reminding me what an idiot I am to even think about letting a stranger in my pants.
This is what happens when you try to kiss a prince, Delia. You turn into a toad.
Sigh.
Marnie can definitely never find out about this, or I’ll never live it down.
In some alternate universe where Dad never met Chris’ disaster of a mother, maybe he’d be picking me up right now.
In this one, all I can do is stare sadly at the screen, fighting the terrible urge to text him. Another brilliant idea.
Oh, hi, Chris. I’m sorry dinner sucked monkey balls. Sorry your mom’s a witch and my dad hangs on her every word like a lost puppy.
Sorry I’ll never be able to kiss you again.
Sorry I didn’t slap you and make your head spin when you shoved your hands where they don’t belong.
Sorry I effing liked it.
See?
There’s nothing to say. Nothing good. Nothing sane.
I bite my lip, itching to throw my phone against the wall.
Night sounds filter through my cracked door, the ocean whispering its secrets or just laughing at mine. I can’t decide.
But I sit up and drink some water, dragging myself over to my easel. I should do something more productive than trying to marry cartoon vampires.
The stormy scene on the beach I’d started painting a few days ago might be just the distraction I need.
I break out my paints and work on adding detail to the small black and white puff of a dog sitting by the rocks, staring at the unsettled horizon.
White dog like innocence.
Grey sky like sorrow.
Blue lightning like my sad little—
A noise makes me turn.
At first I think the soft whooshing is just the night outside vibing with my heart and offering its beach breeze.
But it’s odd how I don’t feel it.
I shrug and get two more brushstrokes in before I scream.
The rough hands landing on my bare shoulders almost make me faint.
Chris spins my chair around gently, pushing a finger against my lips.
“Don’t. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, princess, but we need to talk. Then you can go back to your pretty picture,” he says, soft amusement shining in his eyes as he looks past me at my painting.
He doesn’t ask twice.
As soon as he lets go and I suck in a breath, I stare up in stunned disbelief before I look at his only possible entry point.
The door to my balcony is wide open now, and so is the screen.
“Seriously, what did you do?” I hiss, struggling to keep my voice down. “Climb a tree? Jump to my balcony from yours? Do you know how high up we are? You could’ve snapped your neck!”
I watch him put a stern finger over his lips, covering a hint of a smile that just incenses me even more.