Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
But then he appears again… the time he leaned in for a kiss, the sick smirk on his face. He’s nothing like Rhett. Lucian goddamn Conti is nothing like this strong, protective man.
“What is it?” Rhett snarls, but his hand is still pulsing, moving with relentless abandon against my pussy.
“Nuh-nothing,” I lie, letting go of his thick steel to grab his wrist with both hands, guide his movements, make them rougher, more likely to obliterate the unhelpful thoughts in my head.
“Elle,” he snarls. “Sunshine, fuck…”
He smooths the other hand to my hip and holds me tight, then starts lavishing my pussy with attention. I close my eyes and focus on nothing else except the heat of his hand, the sound of his growling approval, the conflicted hunger in his tone.
I press my hands against his chest, feeling firm muscle against my fingernails.
And I block—him—out…
Fuck.
The orgasm hits me, and nothing else exists or matters. I squeeze my legs tightly around his hand, trapping him there. He leans down and kisses my cheek softly. I shudder and tremble all over, breaking for him, then pull away.
Because he still won’t leave my head. And without a white-hot orgasm to focus on, the memories are harder to avoid. It’s so unfair. The two are nothing alike, a million miles apart.
Rhett moves down the bed, eyes fixed on me. Then he stands slowly and walks to the window.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, still shaking.
His shoulders tense, thick fingers curling into fists. Then he forces himself to relax. “You don’t need to apologize,” he snarls. “I know it must be… Well, it can be difficult.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, drawing my knees to my chest.
“I just need a minute.” He laughs darkly. “You’re like a… hell, Elle.”
“What?” I whisper.
“A fucking spell,” he groans.
Something like victory grips me, and I resist the real urge to do a little dance. I wish emotions were simple. I wish I could be just trapped in the past or just insanely proud that I make him lose control like that. Not confusingly both.
“It wasn’t you,” I tell him.
“You don’t have to explain.” He turns and sits on the edge of the bed.
“Will you hold me?” I ask softly. Maybe that would be okay, be enough for now. But also, maybe he’s a guy with hot blood and needs, and he’s going to try something.
“I’ll hold you all night long,” he says huskily. “Just ignore the shaking. That’s me hanging on for dear life.” His tone is ironic, but the words land as if they’re real, as if he means them. “Come here, Sunshine.”
He lies on the bed. I shuffle closer to him, wincing as images of Lucian punch into my mind. I lay my head against Rhett’s chest and listen to his heartbeat as it thuds against my ear.
I should tell him. But I don’t want to talk about that, not now, not ever.
His fingers swirl through my hair, sending a tingling sensation through my body. “Elle,” he says, his tone heavy.
“Yeah?” My voice comes out sleepy. I didn’t expect to feel so relaxed so fast, but his warm arms are like thick blankets, and his bulk is like a fortress.
He clears his throat. “I know.”
“You know what?”
“I… I know,” he says, letting his words hang there.
It takes me a moment, but then it finally hits me. So hard I almost pull away from him.
He knows. About Lucian. About my tragedy.
Did he look me up? Or did someone recognize me and say something to him? Maybe he saw the newspaper article somehow.
“You know,” I repeat.
He squeezes me tightly against him. “I can explain.”
I do something strange, or maybe it’s not strange. It’s probably what Mira, and I did after what happened to Mom and Dad. I build a box in record time, label it Pandora’s, then shove all my messy crap in there.
“I don’t want you to explain or to know anything,” I snap. “The way I see it, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, and we have an easy, fun relationship. No big revelations. No emotional sucker punches. Okay?”
“Elle—”
“Okay?”
He squeezes me again. “Okay, Sunshine. Okay.”
I don’t realize I’m panting until he agrees, my chest collapsing then inflating rapidly. My throat hurts from dragging in the ragged breaths. I hug tightly against him, because that night is back.
Mom and Dad and the blackness. And Mira alone during it all.
I wake to sunshine on my face and the smell and sound of frying bacon. Mira’s laughter rings out like a bell. I can just see them there, Dad grinning over at her, pancake batter on his face, Mira’s eyes wide and—and obviously, it’s not Dad. But for a second there, it feels like it.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes.
I know.
The words from last night replay in my mind as I pull on my robe and walk into the living-room-kitchen area. Rhett stands at the stove, winking over at Mira, pancake batter on his face. I blink, drinking in the scene.