Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
“What are you going to do to me?” She shivers.
“Whatever I want, of course.” I smack her ass again, just because I can. “Finders keepers.”
She beats her fist on my back and yowls for me to let her go.
I can already tell that isn’t going to happen. Not when I’m having so much fun with my little thief.
4
MARIGOLD
When I realize pounding my fists into his hard back isn’t doing anything but hurting my own hands, I quit. What I need to be doing is paying attention to my surroundings and planning an exit strategy if I intend to escape any time soon.
I peek around the hallway he’s carrying me down to see many works of art covering the walls. There are even tables in front of some of the giant windows with what look like very expensive vases and other knick-knacks.
I make a mental note of some of the items that could be easily pocketed. I decide maybe I’ll take a few as a parting gift before I make my escape. I’ve been inside of very wealthy homes, but this one is something else. I’d bet my life the stuff in here is worth millions of dollars. He must be some antiques hoarder or something.
“Be a good girl, and maybe I’ll let you take something,” he says, breaking me from my thoughts. How does he even know what I’m doing? I’m draped over his damn shoulder.
“Like a special flower?” Cause that’s what I need in order to stay out of trouble. He doesn’t respond to my question as he carries me into a bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him right after Heirloom slips in with us. A second later, he drops me on a bed.
“Don’t move,” he orders before taking a step back. Don’t look at the door, my mind screams. So of course I glance over at the door, totally giving myself away. He was right earlier; I really am a terrible thief. Well, I was a thief until I was kidnapped. Obviously, I’m really terrible at being kidnapped now and getting away. “Again, as I’ve said before, you won’t make it. You might as well get comfortable because you won’t be leaving for a while.” What the heck does that mean?
I’m about to question him about what he considers a while but decide against it. I mean, I guess I can stay for a little while to rest. I’m going to need my strength if I hope to get out of here.
“I’ll stay put.” I give a small bounce on the bed. “You sleep on this thing? It’s hard as a rock.”
“It’s good for your back.”
“If you say so. I’ve slept on better sofas.”
“Do you sleep on a lot of sofas?”
“Why are we talking about where I sleep?” Jeez, he’s a nosy kidnapper.
“You’re the one who commented on my bed first,” he says defensively.
“Okay, I’m sorry I insulted your bed. Are you happy?” A strange expression crosses his face momentarily.
“Don’t move.” He orders again before turning and disappearing into the bathroom. In a flash he’s back with a first aid kit in hand. He’s not wrong about me not making it to the door. I’d never stand a chance if I tried to outrun him.
He drops to his knees in front of me, placing the kit on the floor next to him.
“Ahh!” I scream when he suddenly rips the knee of my already-torn legging. “Are you trying to get my flower?”
His head jerks up, his eyes locking with mine, my words clearly shocking him.
“I’m getting a better inspection of your knee.” His fingers are rough, which surprises me. I was sure he spent all his time behind a desk doing stocks or whatever rich people do in their offices. He slips his finger down my now bare calf, the legging only ripped up to the middle of my thigh.
“Right. Watch it mister,” I warn even as my nipples start to harden at his rough touch.
He leans forwards to inspect my knee, and I realize how close he is to my sex. That only makes the desire I’m starting to have begin to spiral out of control.
“You do realize I’m in charge here,” he reminds me as he starts to tend to my knee.
I snort a laugh. “You own a cat. He’s in charge.”
He doesn’t glance up at me—his attention remains on my knee—but I see the side of one of his cheeks pull up, and I know he’s fighting a smile.
“And I’m in charge of you,” he says simply as if this is a fact.
“For a while.”
“A while,” he repeats.
“You know—” I’m cut off as my knee starts to burn from whatever he put on it. “You’re trying to torture me now! Over a flower!”
“You’re very dramatic.” He blows on my knee.
“So I’ve been told,” I mumble.
“A dramatic little thief.”