Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I’m left standing there with a sunbeam from the skylight halfway down the middle of my face, splitting me in two, officially wetter and more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.
Truce?
I think I just made a deal with the devil.
Chris Triton is about to show me a whole new level of hell.
* * *
It’s a busy morning flight, just a short hop between here and Harry Reid International.
Even with Dad’s perks landing us cozy, overstuffed seats in first class, it still feels way too close with just how big he is.
Or maybe I just can’t handle touching his skin, so I practically shove myself up against the round airplane window.
We’re surrounded by jabbering businesspeople of every sort, and it does nothing to take the edge off.
“Are you sure you won’t worry about anything at home?” I ask, wondering if he can hear me through his earbuds.
He yanks them off. “Nah. Ma, she isn’t my problem anymore. She shouldn’t be yours or Bruce’s, either.”
I nod, hoping he’s right.
Our parents took off together somewhere this morning before the chauffeur brought us to the airport, and I’m tingling way too much to care.
I want fun.
I want ideas for my paper.
And I definitely want to sort out this crap with my quite possibly drunk stepbrother—I caught him tossing a shot of whiskey into his coffee this morning while we were waiting in the lounge.
I also really want to forget everything that’s been plaguing me like this sadistic, brain-eating crush.
Not long after I’m done making small talk, he’s dozing off.
Or so I think, until we’re past twenty thousand feet.
“Goddamn it, Sex...they’re fortified. Snipers. Heavy arms. Where’s our fucking backup?” His hand brushes mine angrily as he shifts in his seat.
One look at his agonized expression says it’s no ordinary nightmare.
It’s a memory.
Oh, no.
I lean in, holding my breath, careful not to wake him as I gently push my fingers through his.
Then he jerks, grunting with disgust, his curdled face too close to mine.
“Yeah. Yeah. No, I don’t give a shit...where’s that med evac?” he mutters. “Call Woods, Nobel, fucking Mr. Strauss if you have to! Gering’s hit and the girl’s not good. She’s out, barely has a pulse, bleeding all over me. That sick fuck—he had them in cages. Yeah, roger. Cages.”
His eyes pop open.
My heart leaps up my throat and I gasp.
“The fuck?” he whispers, one eye snapping open. His horrified expression fades into amusement as he wakes. “Do you always watch people sleep, stalker girl, or is this flight just that boring?”
Dick.
I want to punch him, but the wheels are turning in my head, wondering if I’ve just seen a glimpse of his trauma.
“You were having a nightmare...” I tell him, picking up my ginger ale and taking a sip. “Does being on this plane remind you of anything? If you’re stressed, you can tell me.”
“Maybe I’ve got a confession to make,” he whispers without looking at me, his face falling.
I sit up, waiting on tenterhooks as he slowly looks at me again.
“I have this terrible habit of fucking around with gullible little brats. Especially brats I can’t actually fuck with.” His look turns devilish. “I was awake the whole time. I faked it because I knew it’d get you wet for that stupid paper.”
No flipping way!
This time, I bang my fist into his granite bicep.
It’s like hitting a thousand-pound bull. The sheer force reverberates back up my arm, leaving me rubbing my hand.
Chris chuckles like it’s nothing.
“You suck,” I hiss. “You sounded so serious, too.”
“Come on, princess. A little fun never hurt anybody. We’ll be landing soon, and then you can get away from me. Do you want to hit the casinos later, or what?”
I roll my eyes.
“Your first mistake is assuming I still want to do anything with you when you’re a total...dick.”
I hesitate on the last word.
Part of me wants to call him a tease, a manwhore, but I don’t because I’m afraid he’ll prove me right. If he picks up some random woman to sleep with while we’re out on the town... I don’t even know how I’ll cope.
Especially when I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still flirting, working me over, setting me up for more embarrassment if my better senses fail and I lean in for another kiss.
But why?
That’s what I can’t figure out.
All I know is when I look into his swirling green eyes, they’re devoid of everything but mischief.
“And the second?” he clips.
“Huh?”
“My second mistake. Usually naming the first implies there’s more,” he grumbles.
“Trusting you,” I say, bitterness dripping from my voice.
His gaze sharpens.
“Bull. I think you can get past one shitty fake out,” he growls, searching my eyes.
I honestly don’t know.
Can I?
Then his hand glides up my arm, peppering my skin with goosebumps. He stops on my shoulder and squeezes before trailing his way up my neck, tracing my jawline, my cheek with his fiery thumb.