Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
My heart slams against my ribs.
“How many beatings I took because of you? How many times I faced my da’s belt?”
Oh god. I didn’t know. Didn’t think—
“How many times Malachy made me kneel on stone until my knees bled? How many times Seamus beat the shite out of me in the ring to ‘teach me discipline’? All because you couldn’t keep your perfect little mouth shut.”
His eyes are black and furious, but then they drop to my perfect little mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough.
Something hot and wrong unfurls in my stomach, then lower.
My heart thunders.
He steps closer.
“I never meant to get you in trouble, Cavin,” I whisper. “I—”
“Don’t.” His voice drops to gravel. “Don’t fucking lie to me again. Not here. Not now.”
His eyes bore into mine.
I let out a shaky breath.
“They’ll ring the bell soon. The next floor is bedrooms.” He turns and walks up the stairs without looking back.
I follow, cursing myself for everything.
For the way my eyes track his shoulders.
For the way my pulse jumps when he stops and waits.
For the damp heat between my thighs that shouldn’t be there.
For wanting someone who hurt me.
For being so fucked in the head that his anger makes me wet.
“This one’s Seamus’s,” he says, gesturing. “He stays here when he’s working late.”
Then he opens another door, stepping aside so I can see inside. The room is massive. Dark wood. A bed that could fit four people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cliffs. “This is mine.” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine in unexpected challenge. “Ours, soon, I guess.”
He’s watching me, gauging my reaction.
“What?” The word escapes before I can stop it.
“Ours. We’ll stay here after the wedding.” He pauses, running a hand across the stubble on his jaw, and his voice drops lower. Wicked. “Break it in properly.”
Break it in.
Images flood my brain, unwanted and explicit.
Him. Me. That bed. Tangled sheets. His hands on my skin. His mouth on my—
Oh dear god.
I’m not marrying him.
“What are you talking about?” My voice comes out strangled. “You’re takin’ the piss, Cavin. What wedding?”
“Jaysus.” He drags a hand through his hair, muscles flexing. “Why are you surprised, Erin? Don’t tell me your parents didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” My voice spikes, sharp and frantic, but I can’t stop staring at that bed… at the room that’s apparently going to be ours.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He mutters it under his breath, but not soft enough. “The purpose of your visit? Why do you think you’re here? You think this is just a fucking estate tour?”
A bell rings somewhere behind us. “That’ll be Mam,” he says. “Dinner in five.”
The air shifts.
“What are you talking about?”
“What did I say that confused you?” His eyes are dark. Unreadable. “I thought you were the one with straight A’s. You knew everything back then.” He steps closer. Too close.
“We’re not in school anymore,” he says softly. “And no one’s grading us.”
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way heat pools low in my belly.
“What the hell are you talking about, Cavin? This is ridiculous.” I toss my head. “I don’t believe in marriage.”
Another step. He’s so close I’d have to put my hands on his chest to push him back. The thought alone makes my palms tingle.
He smells good. Looks good.
And I hate him.
So why does my body feel like a live wire?
“Don’t tell me you don’t know the real reason you’re here,” he growls. “Your fucking parents didn’t have the bollocks to say it?”
“Don’t you dare—” I start, but he leans in.
His breath ghosts across my cheek. “No one told you?” he says. “You really thought this was just dinner?”
“Of course I did!” I snap, but it comes out breathless. Wrong. “We’re supposed to make friends with you. That’s it. We have to—” I stop myself. Too much. I’ve said too much.
His eyes narrow. “You were supposed to be polite to me.”
Heat floods my face. “Yes.”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Well, if that’s your goal, you’re doing a terrible job.” He turns to leave.
“No.”
My fingers hook into the front of his shirt. I drag him back toward me.
He’s bigger, stronger, but I catch him off balance. He stumbles, and for one wild second, we’re chest to chest. His heart pounds against my knuckles before his hand shoots up and closes around my throat.
Not squeezing. Just holding. Just there.
A threat.
A promise.
“Let. Go.” His voice is raw and dangerous, but he doesn’t push me away.
His thumb finds my pulse and presses… feels it hammering.
“You’re terrified,” he murmurs. “Or turned on. Can’t tell which.”
Both.
I don’t respond.
His eyes flare, dark and hungry. “Fuck,” he growls.
His hand tightens on my throat. Just slightly. Just enough. And I feel it everywhere… the pressure, the heat.
His erection pressed against my belly.
Oh god.
He’s hard.
For me.
“What are you talking about, Cavin?” I demand, even though I’m shaking. Even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to either run or close the distance. “What arrangement? What wedding?”