Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“You offer to help train all the kids now? You don’t seem like that type of guy, Soren,” Reon says.
“Love?” I say again, confused with the words. Is he right that I wouldn’t offer anyone training, yet I did it so easily for her and her child? And dare I say, I like the kid. “How the fuck do you know about that?” I throw back at him
“Yes, love. And I have my sources.” He pats my back and then walks off, saying over his shoulder, “Be on your best behavior.”
Of course, I’m going to be on my best behavior. I always am at these types of events. But I linger like a fucking stalker, watching Cressida, waiting for her to look my way, but she doesn’t. Her back is to me, and I can’t help but note how her dress clings to her curves.
Arlo eventually comes up beside me, chuckling.
“Who would have thought you would be afraid of a woman?” he comments.
“I’m not.”
“So, why haven’t you gone over there yet?”
“I will when she’s free.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
He leaves me and heads straight to where Cressida is talking to Cora. Arlo says something, then pulls Cora away, leaving Hurricane, my infuriating journalist, standing by herself. She turns, scanning the room, and then her gaze snags on mine. I’m leaning against a table, watching her. Our eyes lock, and it’s like the rest of the room fades out, and there is just her standing there in that sexy as-sin black dress, looking at me like she is not sure whether to approach or run.
I don’t miss the way her grip tightens around her champagne glass just before she takes a hesitant step in my direction. That single movement does something to me, something sharp and unwanted.
My heart rate picks up, and I think back to what Reon said.
Love.
Surely, that’s not what this is.
I don’t love her, do I?
It’s just infatuation.
A pull I can’t explain. A craving that won’t burn out.
So, when does it go away?
One minute I want her to be my damn wife, and the next I’m ready to walk out before she gets the chance to hurt me. It’s a war raging inside my chest with need fighting logic and heart against reason, and I don’t know which side is winning anymore.
“Soren,” she greets when she reaches me.
“Cressida.” She flinches at the use of her name. “You look lovely,” I tell her.
Her gaze pans over me, and she smiles. “Thank you, as do you.” She nods.
Small talk.
Yep, we can do that.
“Though…”
“What? Is my dress too short?” She fidgets with the bottom of it, then tugs it down.
“It would look better on my floor.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble, undoing the top button of my shirt. It’s suddenly getting stiflingly hot in here. “Dance?” I ask her, unable to resist the urge to have my hands on her. She seems nervous by the idea but offers me her hand. The minute my hand clasps around hers, something feels right again. Like that’s how it’s meant to be, I walk her a few steps to the makeshift dance floor and pull her in close. She smells so fucking divine it’s taking everything in me to not lean down and taste her.
“Look, about our discussion earlier—” Her hands fall to my chest.
“Let me fucking kiss you,” I blurt out, cutting her off.
“Soren, we agreed.” She steps back, and I let her.
“You agreed. I agreed to nothing.”
“I’ve decided to date again,” she announces.
“Good. When should I pick you up?”
“I’m not dating you.” She huffs in exasperation.
“Well, I guess all your other dates will have broken limbs and have to cancel until you’re available for me.”
“Gosh, you are so annoying.” She groans and shakes her head. “Actually, I have a question for you, and it’s been playing on my mind for a while.”
“Shoot,” I tell her.
“I want you to be truthful with me.”
“Okay.”
She comes so close I could lean down and kiss those succulent lips. And I really want to.
“You appeared every time I was using my vibrator.” I remain perfectly still and silent. “How and why?”
“Magic.” I wink, and her baby-blue eyes narrow at me.
“How?” she pushes.
Sighing, I admit, “I slipped a listening device into your purse.”
She considers this for a moment, then says, “Thank you for being truthful.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
With a final assessing look at me, she turns on her heel and sashays off, and I don’t see her for the rest of the night.
And trust me, I look for her.
Maybe I am in love with her.
Why the fuck did I tell her about the listening device?
Goddammit! I should have lied.
THIRTY-NINE
CRESSIDA
A listening device?
Who the fuck plants a listening device on someone who isn’t an enemy?
How the hell did he do that without me finding it?