Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Conor drives us to the bowling alley, and over the next two hours, he teaches Archer how to play using bumpers and a ramp. I try to make conversation with Archer like we usually do when we’re together, but he seems more interested in replicating Conor’s every move, and by the time we drop him at Lacey’s, I don’t feel like we’ve visited at all.
I’m irritated and frustrated when I say goodbye, but I try to force it down. Archer asks when we’re coming back and Conor ruffles his hair and promises soon. I give him a hug and a kiss, and then we get back on the highway. I’m still quiet and tense, a ticking time bomb, and Conor senses it.
“Will ye just tell me what the bleeding hell the problem is already?” he barks.
I glare at him.
“You’ve been huffin and puffin all day, and I can’t figure you out. Did ye not have a good time today? Because Archer and I had a grand time.”
“You aren’t his father,” I snap.
The muscle in Conor’s jaw ticks, and I know I’ve offended him, but I don’t care. I’m too far past the point of reason. I’m wounded that Archer wants to spend more time with him than his own mother, and I want Conor to feel the way I do. It’s childish and silly, but I’m too emotional to think straight. Between his hot and cold personality and my life being in shambles for so long, logic abandoned me a long time ago.
“I’m your husband.” Conor’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “So, in fact, that would make me his step-father. And I wasn’t aware you’d get so uptight about me being nice to the kid.”
“It’s not about the fact that you were nice to him,” I bite out. “It’s about the fact that he spent all his time with you today, and I barely got to—”
My voice chokes up, and I can’t get the rest out. Adding to my embarrassment, real tears have started to fall down my cheeks. Conor pulls the car off onto a gravel side road, driving us into a thicket of trees away from the highway. I feel ridiculous and humiliated, and when Conor reaches out to touch me, it’s exactly what I want but everything I don’t need.
“It’s only because I’m new and exciting,” he assures me. “You will always be his number one, Ivy. Ye have no need to worry about that. A boy needs his mother and he always will.”
“Stop it,” I sniffle. “Quit being nice to me.”
He blinks, and then his gaze turns dark. I try to shove him away, but he reaches for my chin and squeezes it between his fingers. “You’re my wife. If I want to touch ye, or be nice to ye, or do anything else to ye, I will.”
“That isn’t what you said this morning.”
Conor glares at me, and then his eyes drift to my lips. The car feels too hot, and his fingers are too strong for me to fight, but deep down, I know I don’t want to. That’s the problem. He’s worming his way into every aspect of my life, and I don’t like it.
I don’t like that my eyes are on his lips too, or that every time I move, I can still feel him inside of me last night. Everything is happening too fast, and the alarm bells are going off, alerting me that this man is dangerous. He’s the worst possible threat to me, because I know deep down that I could really fall in love with him. And right now, in such close proximity, I can’t think straight. So, I reach for the door handle and yank it open, clamoring out of the car into the fresh air.
“Chrissakes,” Conor growls.
He’s right behind me, chasing me around the car. I don’t know where this dirt road goes, but I intend to follow it. At least until he catches me around the waist from behind and drags me back to the car. I fight him the entire way, elbowing him, cursing him, trying to kick at his shins. My emotional state has taken a nose dive off the deep end.
Conor pins me down against the car with his body weight and grabs a fistful of my hair. “Calm down, ye maniac.”
“No,” I snarl. But I can’t move even an inch with his frame pressed against mine.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I don’t want to, but a weaker part of me caves in and submits to his request. My eyes meet the blazing green in his, and my heart thumps harder. Louder.
“You belong to me now,” he rumbles. “Get that through your thick head before ye try something like that again.”
He drives his point home by smashing his lips against mine in a kiss that is both brutal and possessive. At some point, I stop fighting him and melt beneath his touch like a traitor. His hands are all over me then. Clawing at my clothes. Reaching up to cup my breasts and yanking down my jeans. I hear his zipper, and then feel the searing heat of his hard flesh.