Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
He kept going as if he hadn’t heard her, stopping less than an arm’s reach away. God, he seemed big this close up—bigger than Brendan, bigger than her brother had been. He cupped her chin, his grip painless but completely unmovable, and tilted her head back to bare her neck. “Who hurt you?” There was a promise of violence in every line of his body.
“No one.”
“Now, I may not be the smartest man in the world, Callista, but I know what the imprint of a man’s hands on a woman’s neck looks like.” His thumb moved, tracing the line of Brendan’s fingers that she could still feel digging into her skin. Teague’s touch didn’t hurt, though. It felt… almost good.
She swallowed, the move pressing her throat more firmly against his thumb. “I—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
She shivered under that unrelenting gaze, and licked her lips, all too aware of how he tracked the movement. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. Because I’m going to kill the bastard.” He kept stroking her skin, his touch doing strange things to parts of her body that weren’t anywhere near her neck. “Tell me his name.”
She wouldn’t, even if the man who’d hurt her wasn’t already dead. Even in their messed-up world, murder was a last resort—something to be avoided at all costs—not something you did for a woman you barely knew. “No.”
“Your father hasn’t been keeping what’s his safe.” Another stroke, this one closer to her jawline. “That’s his mistake—one I won’t be making as well. His name, Callista.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. She had to get a handle on this now. She’d never considered herself one to crack under pressure, but this man put his hands on her and spoke in that quiet, confident way that promised violence to anyone who touched her, and she was dangerously close to losing control. Which kind of control was up for grabs, so she went with the least likely to reveal her secret.
She kissed him, her heels giving her enough height that she barely had to go up on her toes. Her lips brushed his, and for one interminable second she was sure neither of them took a breath.
Then his arms were around her, and he took the last step to bring their chests flush together and her back against the wall. Even knowing she should be panicking at being pinned, she slipped her arms around his neck and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.
That was all it took.
He let go of her throat to cup the back of her head, and then she was in the middle of the single most devastating kiss of her life. His tongue stroked hers, claiming her mouth—her body—as his own. His hands stayed in place even as he continued the assault on her mouth, his touch headier than the nicotine. She arched against him, tilting her head to allow him better access, and he growled in approval.
Whatever she’d expected from this kiss, it certainly hadn’t been desire. Though desire was too tame a word. She’d felt desire before, and this wasn’t it. This was… need. All-consuming need that devoured everything in its path, leaving only destruction in its wake.
Teague couldn’t get enough of her. He should back off, should let her know he recognized her kiss for the distraction ploy it was, should get back to figuring out who the fuck put their hands on her. But he couldn’t think beyond the way she softened against him and how unbelievably good she tasted.
He allowed himself to skate a hand up her side and run his thumb along the underside of her breast. Holy shit. There was nothing between them but a thin layer of fabric. She moaned, so he moved up a little more, circling her nipple, and giving a moan of his own when her entire body quaked.
This was the woman his father demanded he marry?
Christ, if he only knew, he’d take this away from Teague just like he had every other thing of value. The thought should have been a sobering one, but he was too far gone.
Somewhere to the left of them, a male throat cleared.
He tore away from her at the same time she shoved him, but Teague had only moved to stand in front of her, putting himself between her and whoever had just entered the alley. He took in the man with a single look—tall, bigass shoulders, and black. That suit was most definitely hiding a gun in a shoulder holster, and he probably had at least one more on his person.
Callista pushed past him, shooting him a look. “Micah.”
The man—Micah—crossed his arms over his massive chest. “They’re looking for you, Callie. And I guess they’re looking for you, too.”
“Then we’d best get back.” Callista snatched the scarf out of Teague’s hands and wrapped it around her throat once more, hiding the marks.