Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Eli grins. “I know. Try not to fall head over tits.”
“I’ll manage just fine, considering your presence bores me to tears. Now, I need to practice. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He leans back on his palms, watching me with that dark gaze.
“Leave already. Shoo.”
“Do I unsettle you?”
“You repulse me.”
“I don’t see how that would interfere with your ability to play.”
You know what? Screw him.
I’m not going to allow him to ruin my newfound connection with the cello.
Grabbing the bow, I launch into a slow note and then decide to play something angry so he’ll get the memo.
The cello has always been my perfect outlet. Until I substituted it with an unhealthy addiction—alcohol and drugs.
Maybe the fact that I’ve been sober for some time is the reason my cello is speaking to me again.
I play the sixth movement of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 3 with every ounce of intensity in me. The entire time, I try my best to ignore Eli, but I’m dangerously aware of him.
His stare—or glare—nearly rips a hole in the back of my head. His warmth engulfs me, steals my breath, and charges the air with a destructive energy.
As I hit the last note, a slow clap comes from my side. My jaw nearly hits the ground as I stare back at my cruel, emotionless husband, who has not got one gentle bone in his ripped body.
I expect to find mockery, disregard, or his usual attempts to put me down, but all I find is a small smile and a bizarre glint in those dead eyes.
For a moment, I think he’s an imposter.
Also, why am I dazzled?
The thing in my chest better stop beating so loud or I’ll carve it out once and for all.
Eli opens his mouth and I harden my pride for the hit, but then his deep voice fills the space. “Impressive. I have to say, the anger makes it more memorable.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“I didn’t peg you as someone who can’t handle compliments. You seem to ask for them any occasion possible.”
“I didn’t peg you as someone who compliments people.”
“Not people. You.”
He stands up before I can process his words. His fingers trace my cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before he grabs my chin. He looks down at me without his usual disregard and studies my face so intently, so lovingly, that if I were watching the scene from the outside, I’d mistake it for affection between a married couple.
His touch burns, but his intense stare leaves me frozen. It’s like he’s searching for something. What, I don’t know.
Finally, he releases me. “Sleep tight, Mrs. King.”
Eli walks out with firm, measured strides. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me in a perpetual state of confusion and unbearable warmth.
What type of game are we playing now? Because no one informed me of the new rules.
He was supposed to regard me with contempt, so what the hell is up with this sudden change?
The following morning, I’m surprised to find Eli in the kitchen.
He’s typically out of the house by the time I wake up at ten in the morning and comes back late in the evening, normally after I retreat to my room to battle my usual war with insomnia.
A battle I totally lost last night because I only went to sleep at, like, four in the morning.
I consider going back to my room and disappearing until he screws off somewhere, but that would mean I’m avoiding him.
I’d rather die before giving him any ideas.
“Morning, Sam.” I beam at the old lady as I grab my smoothie and completely ignore his sore presence.
Even though there’s a whole dining room next door, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading from a physical newspaper like an old-fashioned lord and sipping his coffee.
Crisp white shirt, dark-blue pressed trousers, and my watch on his wrist.
Yup. Still as perfect as ever.
“Morning to you as well, Mrs. King,” he says without looking up from his newspaper. “Nice of you to finally join us. I thought the stock market would close before you graced us with your appearance.”
“Good thing I don’t handle my own investment portfolio.” I slide across from Sam as she also sips her tea and watches the exchange with no emotion. “I’m going to the greenhouse. Call me when the eyesore presence is gone, Sam.”
Eli finally stares at me over the top of his newspaper. He pauses when he catches my champagne-pink velvet skirt. It stops a bit below my arse, stretching around my slender curves.
His gaze descends from my white muslin blouse, pausing at my breasts before it takes in my bare legs and cute bunny slippers. For a moment, I can feel his big veiny hands stroking a pattern on my naked flesh, searing and marking it for anyone to see.
Stop thinking about sex and Eli.