Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
She takes the phone to look at it then hands it back to me.
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” She glances back out the window, at the snow that won’t stop falling. “What were you doing at my house the night of the gala?”
Ah. Yes. Of course, she’d ask, but I can’t tell her just yet. I can’t tell her the man who raised her as his daughter is not her biological father. I can’t tell her that her mother didn’t drown accidentally, that she committed suicide on Ophelia’s birthday with a note that said she couldn’t stand the sight of her own daughter.
“I remembered something from years ago,” I say, pausing. “You probably don’t remember. You were home from school when Sly sent me over to give your dad an envelope. You let me in and—”
“I remember. I got in trouble later because I barged into dad’s study.”
“He was surprised when you opened the door, that’s for sure. And I saw what he was doing.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“He was hiding something beneath the floorboards and I thought maybe he’d hidden that envelope Sly had me bring over.”
“So you went back to get it?”
I nod.
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. Something about how Sly had been that day had stuck with me.”
“Was it there?”
I nod, keeping my gaze steady on hers, knowing I’ll have to lie when she probes, hating to because I don’t want to be just another man who lies to her. But I have justification for what I will omit. She can’t hear this, not now, not until I know everything. Given what she’s been told so far, it will finish her if she hears it now.
“What was in it?” she asks cautiously.
“Newspaper clippings about your dad kidnapping your mom.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “And you didn’t think to tell me when you saw me that night?”
“I hadn’t read them through yet.” A half-lie.
She studies me. Can she see through me? “You told me once I’d only marry for love,” she says, surprising me by changing the subject.
I nod, jaw tight.
“What about you? What will you marry for?”
This is a question I don’t expect and don’t know how to answer. My phone rings in my pocket. It’s Nigella. I recognize her ring tone. I reach in to silence it.
Ophelia doesn’t wait for me to answer. She exhales, then turns her back to me. “There has to be another way.”
I study the exposed skin of her shoulders, remembering how she felt in my arms when she gave herself to me. When she was mine. I reach up to lift her hair over one shoulder gently and trace the weal left by Ethan’s belt, knowing I’m doing the right thing. She shudders and when she goes to pull away, I set my hands on the windowsill, trapping her.
“Is it such a terrible idea?” I say, my voice a breath against her ear. Her spine stiffens and the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She turns to face me. I don’t move to give her space. I notice how her nipples press against the faded white of the night gown, see how her pupils have dilated.
“I don’t want you. I did once, but that’s over,” she says.
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
I brush one hardened nipple with the knuckle of my hand. She licks her lips, swallows. I lean closer, brushing my lips over her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Who’s the liar now?”
The phone rings again, breaking into this strangely intimate moment between us.
“Maybe you should get that.”
“It’s fine.” I silence it again. “Tell me, is it such a terrible idea?”
Her gaze moves from my lips back to my eyes. She narrows hers, brushes my chest with her fingertips, and it’s me who has to swallow now as she slides her hand down over my stomach, my groin. When my dick responds to her touch, she narrows her eyes. She wraps her hand around my erection, and when she slides it up and down, something sounding like a growl comes from my chest.
But when, a moment later, she cups my balls and squeezes too fucking hard, I suck in a breath and grip the windowsill.
“O—”
“Like the one-sided agreement about not lying to each other, I’m guessing I don’t have a choice in this marriage either, do I?”
“No, not really,” I say. She squeezes again, and I grit my teeth, close one hand over her wrist. “Take it easy, Ophelia.”
“You won’t touch me, understand?” She twists a little.
My breath is a hiss. “You’ll want me to touch you, trust me.”
“You. Won’t. Touch. Me.” She twists harder, and my vision starts to fade around the edges. “This marriage? This sham marriage? It is on paper only. It’s not real, and you won’t touch me.”