Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Pleasure,” she says, taking my hand and shaking lightly, before pausing and looking down at our joined palms. She frowns and pulls away, looking at her hand before wiping it on her skirt.
Jake laughs loudly, while I’m a bit put out. Cheeky cow!
Lucinda ignores Jake’s amusement and holds up a magazine in front of my face, too closely for me to focus. “If Daddy suspects anything, then I guess he’ll have it confirmed soon.”
I step back and home in on the top left-hand corner of the page. There’s a picture of me draped across Jake’s arms. As he carried me out of the bar like a hero, my face buried against his big chest. I shoot a look to where he’s standing at his desk, finding him lost in thought.
“Let me read you a section, shall I?” Lucinda says, glancing down at the print. “‘London socialite Camille Logan, daughter of business tycoon Trevor Logan, is always a step ahead. The leggy blonde, who models for the likes of Karl Lagerfeld and Christian Dior, might have just taken job perks to a new level with her tall, dark, handsome bodyguard.’” She looks at Jake. “That’s you, by the way.” She coughs and goes on. “‘The pair were spotted—’”
“Okay!” I snap, getting worked up on Jake’s behalf. “I get it.”
Lucinda drops the magazine and looks at me as if she could be my father. I could slap her for it. “Do you really?”
I scowl at her. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking the same thing everyone thinks when they read the shit that’s printed about me. They have that preconception of what sort of person I should be based on the bollocks they read. This woman thinks I’m just a stupid little girl who’s fallen in love with her bodyguard. Only one part of that statement is true, but I have no desire to waste my breath on putting her straight on the other. Like the rest of the world who think they know me, she can go fuck herself. I’m tired of trying to justify myself. “Excuse me, I need to go file my nails.” I swivel and walk away, boiling on the inside.
I toss the sheets on the bed and head for the shower, resisting punching the door frame on my way through it. I could burst with fury.
How fucking dare she?
Slamming the shower on, I stamp my way in and viciously scrub at my skin, trying to scrub away the anger and resentment at the same time. He puts his dick in holes. Any holes. She thinks I’m just another hole for him. My teeth clench.
I must be the cleanest I’ve ever been by the time I’m done, but I feel no better. Snatching a towel, I scrub at my body some more until I’m bone dry and my skin is tingling sore. Then I stare out the window across the docklands, my stomach sinking further and further by the second. Damn my father. Damn everything.
“Angel?” His soft call drifts into the room and swirls around in my head. But I don’t look at him, choosing to pull my towel up and tuck it in under my arms instead, busying myself.
“Has Cruella gone?” I ask curtly.
“Yes.” He’s pensive. “Why are you so mad?”
I give up the landscape of London and face him, but I’m unable to appreciate my new view. “I don’t want to be just another meaningless fuck to you.” I only meant to think that, but the words are out with no chance of being retracted now. His sexual past isn’t any of my business, and even if I thought it was, I wouldn’t want to know.
Understanding surfaces on his face, and I close my eyes, full of regret. “And there we have it,” he mutters, the sound of his bare feet padding toward me.
I hate myself for saying what I did. Mainly because I sound needy and insecure, and that’s the last thing I want to portray. Even to Jake. Even if I really do feel like I need him.
His fingertip meets my chin and he applies the lightest of pressure, encouraging me to lift my head. “Look at me.”
I reluctantly open my eyes, finding Jake’s dark gaze soft and reassuring. It only serves to make me feel worse, because he understands me so well.
He smiles. “I’m not going to tell you that it isn’t true. I’m not proud of it. I screwed women. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Stop.” I look away from him, hating the thought of anyone taking the pleasure I get from him.
“No, I won’t.” He fully grabs my chin, a silent but firm indication of what he wants. It kills me, but I comply, looking him in the eyes. “When I couldn’t distract myself with work, that’s all I had. They were faceless women, angel.” Dipping, he pushes his scratchy cheek into mine and whispers in my ear. “I see you.”