Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
At some point, I go to the room connected to hers by a bathroom. I’m emotionally drained and need to rest, but sleep hasn’t come easy. I crash in a bed softer than my own, but just can’t get comfortable.
I miss having over six feet of solid rock and sculpted muscle clinging to me.
His absence is like a vast, empty chasm with a sea rushing through it, the waves rolling down, shoving me deeper into a dark abyss.
Yes, it’s agonizing and overly dramatic.
Yes, the tears come fast and furious and there’s no damn stopping them.
Yes, I cry myself to sleep that night with knives scratching at my soul.
Then I dream of him again.
We’re lying in his huge cloud of a bed, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets.
His arms are around me, and his earthy smell mingled with fragrant cologne makes me swoon a hundred times. My head rests on his shoulder—right where it belongs—and I can’t hide my smile as he runs a hand through my hair, slowly winding it around his fingers.
“Big news, woman. I love you,” he says, his eyes hot blue stars.
“That was my headline!” I whisper, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his chin. “I love you more, Mag. Now and forever.”
Then I start pushing the blankets down, so much warmth leaving my body.
His arms slide around my waist, cinching me to his side, yanking me back. “Where do you think you’re going? It’s Saturday.”
“The office,” I say. “The airline sent feedback, they need—”
“Stay with me,” he growls, so fierce I’m taken aback.
The plea in his voice makes it impossible for me to do anything else. It also reminds me how deep our connection is.
I lean down and meet his mouth.
The kiss is slow and sensuous, but not the kind of heat that leads to more—just the kind when you know this person you’re kissing is part of you.
Except when I wake up, the kiss is a lie.
I never got the chance to tell him I loved him, too.
Because he never said it outside my tormenting dreams.
Not even once.
If he really wants to hunt me down, it’s all he’ll ever have to say.
26
Simply Perfect (Magnus)
Another week of nothing.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
My attorney’s private eyes keep watch on Jordan, but we haven’t found a way to force my dad back to the States yet. Marissa flutters in and out of consciousness, but when she’s alert, she’s incoherent.
She doesn’t even know that I let that jackass leave with her son. I’ve tried to tell her twice, and after a look of horror, she slips away and comes back the next day, her memory wiped.
Goddammit.
I can’t keep torturing her, torturing myself, like this.
And yes, I know the clock is ticking.
Every second Jordan spends with our father, the more he’s in danger. They could split the Virgins for places where I’ll never get him back.
Sabrina hasn’t taken my calls, of course.
I think she blocked my fucking number.
I can’t get a response to my emails either—or maybe they’re just lost in the mess of over ten thousand messages—and reading the Google Finance headlines this morning makes me want to stay in bed.
HeronComms’ shares are down. Plummeting. Not that I give a shit.
I’m too busy pining over a battered heart like some lovesick boy to effectively run the company I rescued years ago. My own private hell, an obsession with a woman who despises me.
Fuck!
What difference does it make? What difference does anything make?
I pry myself out of bed with a snarl and dress in a jet-black suit Brina always complimented. I’m going to her apartment.
I’ll stand outside her door in the rain until she decides to talk to me or call the cops. It’s the only thing I can think to do. My last-ditch effort to save my sanity, and my woman.
But after today, if she has me dragged away in handcuffs, if she loathes me that much, I’ll have to stay away.
Let her move on.
I’m sure it won’t be the last I see of her.
She’s brilliant. She’ll still be at every conference and convention. She’ll just leave with someone else. Some lucky bastard who treats her better than I did.
Twenty minutes later, I climb in the town car.
“The office?” Armstrong asks.
“No. Brina’s apartment.” I stare out the window, trying to think what I’m going to say if she’ll even talk to me.
Armstrong doesn’t answer, but his eyes flick to me in the rearview mirror, more than once. Eventually, he clears his throat.
“Yes?” I ask. “Something on your mind?”
“Mr. Heron, it’s your business, but honestly? I suggest taking a gift.”
I lean my head against the window. “The last time I tried she told me to deliver the flowers to a retirement home. And I did.”
“Does she keep flowers around her desk?”
“No,” I say slowly.
“Hmm.”
I stiffen in my seat. “You think flowers were a bad idea?”