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)
“Jesus Christ. How long were you standing there watching me?” I demand.
An evil smile pulls at his lips. “Not nearly long enough.”
Yep, he’s going to get me arrested.
I want to murder him for ambushing me like this and peeping in on my room. Never mind risking his literal neck to come over here.
Instead, I stomp over to the door and pull the screen shut, shaking my head.
When I turn to face him again, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed with a look like he belongs there. “I had to talk to you after what happened at dinner tonight. Come have a seat, sis.”
His big hand pats the empty spot next to him.
I pinch my jaw shut, feeling this strange heady rush of heat as that last word replays in my head.
Is sis just supposed to piss me off more? Or remind me there’s something broken in my brain?
Either way, mission accomplished.
I hate the fact that we’re stepsiblings now doesn’t stop me from wanting to climb him like the huge tree of a man he is.
No. That fire in my veins isn’t just anger for him being Mr. Prick incarnate.
It’s for what we lost.
What I thought we had last night.
This bizarre, hypocritical hole in my heart widens. All because I can’t feel this asshat’s mouth smothering mine ever again.
“Delia? You look disturbed,” he points out.
Oh, darling step-dickhead, you have no earthly idea.
This isn’t me and that’s what scares me the most.
I’ve always been the good girl, Miss Levelheaded, the magna cum laude career track girl boss in the making.
Hard muscles, barbed ink, and a world-class ego never did anything for me, but here I am.
Staring at this insanely hot weirdo and trying to convince myself he’s as repulsive as his words.
And here he is, lying in my bed, doing—what, exactly?
I sink down next to him reluctantly, careful to leave an arm’s gap between us.
“What’s there to talk about?” I ask with a sigh that feels like breathing lead. “We can’t change anything, you know. Yeah, we screwed up big-time last night, and I guess it’s just going to be hella awkward from now on. If I’d known you were that Christopher... I’d have told you to pack up your diving gear and go.”
“Ah, fuck.” He sits up straighter, a smirk I can’t decipher on his lips. “If you keep giving me that Christopher shit, it’s going to be more awkward. Call me Chris. Ma just uses the formal shit to make me sound like another accessory.”
“So, is that why you came swinging in, Tarzan? To talk about your mommy issues?”
Oops.
The way his eyes darken and that smirk disappears makes me regret my words instantly.
Then he locks eyes and says, “I’m here as a courtesy, smartass. Mainly because I can’t stop thinking about how sweet your little clit burned last night when you came on my hand.”
“You—” A sharp gasp chokes me off as I process his words.
Holy crap.
Apparently, he’s completely shameless.
But maybe I deserved that after the 'mommy issues' comment.
His green eyes blaze with something like pride as he stares me down. I glance away before my lady bits can spontaneously combust, if my brain doesn’t first.
“...you’d be better off if you forgot about it. Everything, Chris,” I say weakly. “I can’t help you with that and you know it. Are you just staying for the night or heading home after you sober up?” I can smell the strong alcohol on his breath.
I wish I could believe he’s just drunk.
That would make the filthy words and hungry eyes easier to explain.
Only, he seems too lucid, regardless of how much he’s been drinking.
There’s a sharpness in his gaze that says this is him, as real and unfiltered as it gets.
At least the liquor smell helps bury the masculine, cologne-tinged scent I dreamed about. The smell I wanted to inhale from his bare skin so flipping bad.
“You’re shit at playing coy, Delia. You still want me,” he says, ignoring my question. His chest bows out as he slides closer, pushing his arm against my mattress until his bicep bulges. “Hell yeah, you do. I’d know that spark in your eyes anywhere. You really didn’t know last night, did you?”
What?
“Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I didn’t know! What, do you think I’m some kind of crazy who’d be thrilled at sleeping with her own stepbrother?”
“Are you?” His deep, growling chuckle vibrates through my bones.
His hand finds the small of my back and skims up my spine before diving down again, smoothing a few wrinkles in my dress.
I inhale harshly, thinking back to what he shouted as he stomped away from the table.
Is that what this is? Feeling me out to see if his mother put me up to messing with his head?
Jesus.
Evie is about ten fries short of a chicken basket, but she can’t be that maliciously crazy...right?