Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
For one second, one glorious second, I’ve got him as he’s taken by surprise and falls. I quickly pin him down. Victory courses through me, and I can’t stop the grin that sweeps over my face at the surprise in his eyes. But the moment’s short-lived.
Fuck.
His eyes darkening to gray blue, he coils his body, and the next thing I know, I’m soaring through the air. There’s an audible sound of a tear, and then… he’s immobilized me.
No.
He’s on top of me, and I’m pinned beneath him.
“You think you need to show me who you are?” he asks. Just to show off, the bastard’s got both my wrists in one huge hand, and I can’t move.
I realize three things at once.
First, my dress is torn. The ripping sound was the neckline. A flap of fabric moves in the breeze, baring my bra-clad boobs to him. Great.
Second, his… body is on top of me.
And he’s… large, and strong, and masculine, and really smells a lot better than any man ever should. Images of the two of us naked flit through my mind because I’m not a corpse, and other than us not knowing each other, being outdoors where anyone could see us, and fully clothed… what’s to stop me from mentally going there?
Third… he’s furious. A vein throbs in his temple, and his nostrils flare. I can tell he’s holding himself back from really hurting me.
My throat tightens with the sudden knowledge that once again, I’ve let my temper get the best of me and probably just ruined everything.
Again.
He won’t let me stay now. I know he won’t. Only a fool would.
“You were saying?” His eyes spark at me like flashes of flint.
“I can fight,” I say through gritted teeth, my voice shaking.
“Of course you can.” He spits out the words like venom. I feel momentarily vindicated. He doesn’t wonder if I can fight. “That was never in question.”
Wasn’t it? Did he bait me? If he did, I leapt to it like a goddamn fish to a worm-covered hook. His admission that I can fight takes a bit of the wind out of my sails.
If I wasn’t fully restrained under him, I could reach out and touch that rugged stubble along his jaw. There’s a silvery scar near his left eye I didn’t notice before, weirdly similar to mine. Huh.
“You listen.” His voice is a deadly purr, like the growl of a mountain lion warning its prey. He lowers his face to mine so we’re only inches apart. I can’t believe I thought he had an ounce of softness in him just moments ago. He’s nothing but hard lines and angles, as flexible as steel. A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face, but his eyes are cold as ice. “Do not ever do that again.”
“Do what?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He leans in closer, the muscles along his neck taut. He bares his teeth, his voice no more than a growl. “Try to fight me.”
He doesn’t even say fight me, but try.
Ouch.
Okay, so I’m getting off with a warning? If he wanted to throw me off his property, he wouldn’t use the word “again.”
Would he?
He’s got me in an expert submission hold, more skilled than most I’ve fought before.
I came here to suggest a business proposal and he’s served me humble pie.
Good one, Vi. I stifle a sigh.
“Tell me you won’t ever even think about fighting me again, Miss Price.”
“I won’t fight you.” My voice is clogged with emotion. I don’t concede often, and when I do, it’s under duress, just like this. I don’t make any promises beyond that, though.
There are many, many things I could do that don’t fall under the umbrella of “fighting.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re still on top of me.”
“I’m aware.” He doesn’t budge.
I won’t sugarcoat things. I won’t pretend I’m here for any reason other than my true purpose. I draw in a breath and hold his gaze, unblinking, my tone of voice firm and confident despite my compromised position.
“I need you to help me find the people who killed my parents.”
Still holding me beneath him, he gives me one short nod before he releases me. I get to my feet, shaking a little, and fruitlessly try to hold the flapping fabric against my breasts. My hands shake.
He reaches for the hem of his tee and yanks it up over his head before he tosses it in my direction.
Numbly, I catch it mid-air. It’s soft and warm and smells like him, spicy and virile and all male.
I look at him and blink.
“Put it on.”
I look down at my bare chest and ripped dress, then back like an idiot to the bunched-up fabric in my hand before I realize he’s standing bare from the waist up in front of me. As he turns away from me, I tug the tee on quickly, to block my view of his perfect, chiseled back, crossed with the same silvery scars as my own.