Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Someone else is on their way to take over,” he adds. “You’ll be safe.”
My heart receives a sharp shot of pain. It baffles me beyond measure, yet I carry on my way, my grip of the bottle in my hand tightening until the plastic starts to crunch loudly. What’s most fucked up here is that I’m disappointed he’s going instead of worried about the photographs that were delivered. It’s crazy.
“Fine.” I force the word through my clenched jaw, spotting my handbag across the living room as I enter.
Just get it and go. Don’t look at him.
I throw my phone inside and turn, finding Jake standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me closely. His deep eyes when they study me this closely always render me incapable of movement.
“What?” I ask, sounding harsh and stroppy.
He picks up his bag from the floor, shaking his head. “You’ll wait here until they arrive.”
“I have things to do!” I argue as he throws his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.
“Five minutes, Camille. You can wait for five minutes. Then you’ll never have to do a thing I tell you to do ever again.” He takes the door handle and looks over his shoulder, almost smiling at me, expecting my retort. Which is why I don’t give him one.
I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, except myself. I have my integrity and independence. I also have an unbearable pain in my heart as I watch him pull the door open. I try to reason with myself, tell myself that I’m being stupid and the only thing that’s making me feel this way is the comfort I don’t want to feel from his presence. That he can protect me. But that isn’t just it.
Jake takes one last long, hard look at me, then turns to leave, but he gets no farther than two paces, coming to a sudden, abrupt halt. The muscles of his back bunch under his T-shirt, his shoulders high and tense. His bag falls to the floor, and his hand comes round to his back quickly, resting on something. His gun?
I step back, cautious…and then I hear someone speak. “Is Camille home?”
My stomach bottoms out.
Sebastian.
I start to back away, frightened, but then I panic for a different reason. Shit, Sharp’s going to shoot him!
I fly toward the door and grab Sharp’s hand, which is halfway to pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. He expertly yanks himself free and swings around, eyes full of dangerous intent, his forehead displaying a sheen of sweat.
The moment he realizes it’s me, I see his face soften. “It’s my ex-boyfriend!” I rush to explain.
He freezes, and once I can be sure the information I’ve just given him has sunk into his robot mind, I start to move in front of him, slowly and cautiously, watching him closely. He looks dangerous. Volatile. Good Lord, he looks murderous.
“Jesus.” Seb’s startled curse pulls my attention away from Sharp. My ex is standing in the corridor, his back pressed to the wall on the far side. His blue eyes are wide and wary, but they are perfectly clear, too.
It’s been nine months since I’ve seen him. Nine months of sorting myself out. He knows we’re done, that there’s no going back for me. “Why are you here?” I ask, flicking a glance over my shoulder, not liking what I find. Sharp looks positively deadly, his hand still behind his back, ready to pull his gun.
“How are you, Cam?” Sebastian asks. The super-shorted version of my name, the one only he ever used, brings on an onslaught of flashbacks. My only saving grace is that the flashbacks are of the dark times. It’s the best reminder.
“I’m good.” I give Sebastian an even face to match my even answer. I’m good, without you! While in rehab, he gave me regular updates in long, detailed e-mails. I chose not to respond, and after the first two weeks, I stopped reading them altogether. They only hindered my own recovery. He was full of remorse. He always was. He will not make me weak again. He won’t have that hold over me.
Flicking a look past me, Seb weighs up the mountain of lean muscle still looming behind me.
I choose to answer his silent question, if only to move things along. This is awkward.
“He works for my dad,” I tell him. “He’s driving me today.” It’s not a lie, but it isn’t the truth either. It’s of no consequence who Jake Sharp is because, apparently, he’ll be gone soon.
Once again, a nasty shot of regret pinches my heart, but more significantly, it completely overshadows any fear of facing Seb. I realize in this moment how thankful I am that Sharp is here. Especially now.
Sebastian steps forward and smiles. “Coffee?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” I answer.