Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
I roll away from him, onto my front, and stare across the room. Why me? And what now? I feel his fingertip meet the top of my arse and drag slowly up my spine, making my shoulder blades pull in. He stops on my scar, and I subtly inhale. He doesn’t believe my lie about where it came from.
“Are you ready to talk?” he asks softly.
I close my eyes, feeling my time ticking away fast. “No.”
He pinches my bum, and I yelp, but I remain front down on the bed, looking across the room. “Who was that man?”
“The one in the alley?”
“No, the one in the club flashing pictures of you around.”
“I don’t know.”
On an impatient huff, he takes my hip and pulls me over onto my back. “Who would hire someone to find you?”
“My family.”
He frowns, eyes a little narrowed. “You lost your parents in a burglary.”
Give him something. Anything. “It’s complicated,” I say.
“Try me.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
He pinches my boob in warning, and I yelp on a buck. “You know, I like that more than I don’t.”
“Pearl,” he says lowly, warningly.
“I’m just saying, you’ll need to find another form of punishment if you want it to be effective.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He moves so fast, the room is a blur.
“Brad!”
I’m spun onto my front, he slaps my arse, really fucking hard, and spins me back. “Talk.”
“Fuck, that hurt,” I yell, the sting biting.
“You want me to go again?”
“No,” I grate.
“Then talk, gorgeous.” He straddles my stomach and tickles his way from my armpits to my wrists, his fingers moving in delicate, feathery circles across my skin. Then he pins me to the bed. Trapped. But free. I can feel his soft dick lying on my lower stomach. Can see the demand in his lazy eyes.
Talk. I have never talked to anyone about anything. I’m not sure I should start now. “I didn’t lose my parents in a burglary.” I shrug, apologetic. “It’s just an easier story to tell than the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?”
“I lost my mum when I was thirteen.” I’m aware of the lack of emotion in my voice. I won’t bother trying to fix it. I’m no actress.
Brad flinches on a blink, releasing my wrists. “I’m sorry.”
I smile sadly at how uncomfortable he is right now. But . . . he asked. “Don’t be.”
“Your father?”
“Died when I was ten.” I have no idea if he’s buying this. I mean, there’s an element of truth to it, but I’m being economical. Not only because his expression is hard to look at now.
“So why would your family want to find you? And what family?”
I shrug noncommittedly. “Dad owned a lot of land. I expect his siblings want it, I don’t know, but I don’t want to see any of them.”
“Land?”
“In England.”
“Your parents were wealthy?”
I nod. “And his family were not. The land’s just sitting there. Wasted.”
“So you lost your father when you were ten, your mum when you were thirteen.”
Another nod.
“So who looked after you?”
“I was taken into care.” I feel my voice crack and fight to get it under control, because I will never cry over that situation again. And that right there was a bare-faced lie. I don’t want to lie to him.
“How did they die, Pearl?”
“Dad drink driving,” I whisper. “My mum killed herself.”
I have to look away from Brad’s tense expression, hating that I can’t give him the complete picture. Hating that I’m exposing him. Exposing everyone I love just by being here.
Which is why I should leave.
“In the end,” I whisper, “she chose death over me, and I couldn’t even be angry with her for it.” I swallow down the lump in my throat, and Brad blows out his cheeks, pulling a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell.”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“My mum killed herself.” He frowns down at my stomach. “She killed herself because Uncle Carlo killed my dad for fucking around behind her back.”
“What?”
“She loved him so much, despite everything he did to her. She couldn’t live without him.”
I breathe back my shock. But she could be without Brad. That’s what he’s thinking but not saying. He felt abandoned. And I’m possibly one of the few people who truly understands how that feels. Because Mum chose death over me too.
Brad tilts his head, his face a mass of concentration. “I always thought she was a strong woman. Dad was a player, a fucking asshole to her, and she always thought she could change him.” He laughs under his breath. “She always said behind every good man is a good woman.” He looks up at me, and the pain in his eyes would put me on my arse if I wasn’t on my back. “She chose to be with him in hell and left me here wondering what the fuck I didn’t do to make her choose me.”