Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“You gonna let me in my tower yet?” Hawke nags.
“My tower.”
While it’s possible I never would’ve known it was there without him, he never would’ve gotten access to it if I didn’t own it.
I hand him the diary. “It was on the kitchen counter in Carnival Tower.”
He narrows his eyes, setting his drink down and taking the book. Quickly, he opens it, turning pages and then fanning the rest.
He looks up at me, surprised. “I’ve never seen this.”
“Winslet MacCreary didn’t die in the river,” I tell him, flitting my eyes to Hunter, then Dylan. “And I don’t think it was the Doran brothers who put her there.”
Kade snatches the book, but Aro steals it from him, Dylan hovering at her side as they look through it.
“I think she made it out of the car,” I say to them, “let people believe she was gone, hid out under everyone’s noses in Shelburne Falls somewhere, and sought revenge on the Pirates who tried to murder her.”
Everyone stops and gapes at me. “Pirates?” Hawke repeats.
I nod. “You read it and tell me what you think. It’s…difficult to understand.”
I rise, not wanting to get caught up in the third degree right now. They can look through it themselves and get back to me.
I start to walk away but stop. “Stay together tonight,” I tell them.
“Why?” Kade asks.
“Something feels weird.”
Maybe I’m overthinking, but chaos provides opportunity. And the more the drinks flow, the more poor choices will arise.
I leave them, trying not to scan the area for Lucas. I know he’s here, but he’ll be cautious with my brothers around. I don’t want to be cautious.
Plus, I’m hungry. Starving, actually. Heading to the basement, I slip through the door and to the refrigerator to grab ingredients for pizza. I scarfed down some oatmeal at four this morning before I left Weston, and all I’ve had since was three spoonfuls of parfait.
Carrying the cheese, sauce, and dough already prepared on a pan out to the patio, I preheat the pizza oven, feeling him close. And the more I try to keep my gaze averted, the more aware I am that I have to force myself not to search for him. Every second. Don’t look for him.
Every moment. I’m still not looking for him.
But I turn around, and he’s standing there. Staring at me.
Rounding the little island, he backs me into the corner, out of view, as the scent of his shower and fresh clothes waft off him.
His hand grazes my thigh where my brothers noticed the bruise this morning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you last night,” he whispers.
His chest presses into mine, and I can barely breathe. I open my mouth, lost in the shape of his lips. And remember how demanding his mouth is when it has a hold of mine.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, giving the screw one extra twist. “That it’s okay?”
I don’t feel the bruises. I wouldn’t mind more.
He bears down, his head hovering over mine, and my entire body tingles as his fingers drift up my leg, caressing the bruised skin.
“Do you like my dress?” I taunt.
His hand glides up, flattening against my stomach, coming so close to my breast, and then snaking around my waist, raising my hem. My panties are visible to anyone who might walk by.
I tease him. “Do you like my dress?”
I know he does, and I want to hear him say it. I want to know he’s been thinking about how accessible my body has been all day and he hasn’t been able to touch me.
But also, I kind of like how it seems he barely notices the question, lost in his desire.
His breath falls on my mouth as he licks his lips, looking down at me like I’m a drug and he’s already addicted.
He tugs at the fabric, balling it in his fists tighter and tighter until I hear a tiny tear.
Yes.
“Lucas!” someone shouts.
Farrow?
I blink, feeling the ridge of Lucas’s groin press between my legs.
“Someone’s here to see you!” Farrow shouts from somewhere.
I pant, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. He can’t leave me. He can’t stop. He’s going to lift me up and rip off my clothes…
But he backs away.
And I clench my teeth in anger.
“I’m coming,” he calls out.
Holding my eyes, he lets me go, and my body almost leaves the wall as if being pulled as he goes. Don’t leave me.
Damn him.
Hawke doesn’t drop Aro. There’s nothing more pressing to him than her.
And it would take an earthquake to get Hunter off Dylan.
I deserve better than this.
I stand there—for one second, then two.
An earthquake.
What if there is one thing more pressing to him than me? Just one thing? The one thing that made him leave eight years ago. Still unresolved.
Taking a step, then another, I follow him, peering around the corner and seeing him climb the small hill toward the front of the house. Slipping behind the tall hedges between the basement and the hill, I crouch down and crawl, following after both of them.