Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Good,” I tell him. “Keeping busy. What about you?”
“The same,” he replies.
“Any news about Loki?”
He shakes his head and bites down. “Nothing yet. I’m trying not to lose hope, but each day…”
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for me to see how badly this is messing him up.
It feels so weird sitting here knowing what we did. The heat between us feels far away as he frowns down at me. I’m almost sure there’s something in his eyes, a spark like he wants to let it lead to an ignition that will consume us both. If it is there, and it’s not my imagination messing me up, then he’s keeping it well hidden.
A moment later, though, the smile returns. It’s like he’s constantly at war with himself. I’m the one who told him to back off. I hear Mom’s voice in my head, telling me to do the same here, to make it clear I’m not going to fall so easily under his spell.
“You are so, so talented,” he says.
I flush and shake my head, reminding myself this could be a line. “I’ve barely even started.”
“I know. You’ve got so much time to improve on your natural talents.”
I laugh, gesturing at my canvas. “No, I mean this piece. I’ve barely even done any sketching.”
“Well,” he smirks, “it’s the best sketching I’ve ever seen.” His smirk falters. He steps closer. For a blistering second, I think he’s going to kiss me. He lowers his voice. “Have you received any more gifts from James?”
“No,” I murmur, “but…” I wonder if I should tell him this part.
He stares icily. Not telling him doesn’t feel like an option when he’s looking at me like that.
“I’ve had a few phone calls from withheld numbers. I didn’t answer except one. They kept calling.” I remember staring at my phone yesterday, praying it was Fletcher but not having the guts to answer it. “So finally, I answered. I think it was James. He sounded drunk. Or angry. Or maybe both. He asked me if I think I’m better than him. I just want him to leave me alone.”
Fletcher looks like he’s about to burst. His fists are clenched, causing his forearms to bulge. I get the sense that if James weren’t his son, he’d do something drastic about this. Or maybe, yet again, it’s my imagination wishing he cared this much.
“That’s not good,” he says after a long pause. “Let me talk to him.”
“You don’t have to do that. It was two hours of calling, then nothing. Like I said, I think he was probably drunk. He hasn’t sent me anything else.”
“He shouldn’t be bothering you at all,” he growls. “You went on one date. It didn’t go well. That should be the end of it.”
I agree, obviously, but I don’t want to hammer the point too enthusiastically. Whatever else is true about James and his douchebag antics, he’s still Fletcher’s only son. Not for long… Oh, if only. Deep inside, something aches in me, wishing it was true.
“What are you doing later?” he asks huskily.
“What do you mean?”
He laughs, looking down at me with an indulgent smirk. I can tell he’s partly trying to hold back some of the fire, but he can’t help but let some of it show. There’s a tension all through him that makes me wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking about us, the heat we shared, all the steaminess in our future, too.
“I mean a date, Samantha,” he says fiercely.
“I…” This sounds so lame, but it’s the only defense I have. “I told my mom I wouldn’t rush into anything.”
“Let me talk to her. I’ll make it clear my intentions are pure.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” I ask. “Sometimes, it’s hard for me to tell.”
“No,” he replies.
“It’s just… pure intentions after…” I can’t say it, but my body sizzles at the memory, his mouth against my sex, his hands holding me in place like he was getting as much pleasure from the act as I was.
“I know. I got carried away. That’s why a date is a good idea. Somewhere public. Somewhere that you can’t tempt me.”
I smile, even as my cheeks flush. “So I tempted you?” I say.
“You’re tempting me right now,” he says breathily. “Every second I look at you, you’re tempting me.”
“I must be doing it by accident, then.”
“That’s what makes you so beautiful. Everything is natural.”
“I…” I should talk to Mom about this, but that is so lame. Maybe she thinks my emotions are sweeping me away, but in the midst of this heat, that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It doesn’t feel like I should be ashamed. It feels right. “I’d like to go on a date, but I don’t think you need to talk to Mom.” Yet. “What about James, though?”