Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“I don’t,” he said simply. “Looks like you’ll be my first.”
I was the prisoner, but I actually felt bad for him.
“How does this friendship thing work?”
“Friends are always honest with each other.”
“Done,” he said quickly. “That’s easy.”
“They trust each other.”
“Hmm…I’m not sure I trust you not to kill me just yet.”
If I could get away with it, I probably would. “As long as you have that transmitter, I’m at your mercy.”
“True. And you know you can trust me?”
“In what way?”
“My intentions are always clear. I’ll never surprise you. What else?”
“That’s about it…other than genuinely liking each other.”
“Well, I know I like you.” He winked again. “What’s not to like?”
“And I…don’t absolutely despise you.” That was the best I could do.
He grinned. “Wow. We’re really making progress here.” His hand moved to my thigh, and he gave it a squeeze. “I think that’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“So tell me about your dream.”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what happened with Josephine.”
He turned to me with his eyebrow raised. “What makes you think I’m gonna share that with you?”
“We’re friends. That’s what friends do. I tell you something, and you tell me something.”
He shook his head. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of your concern. That’s why. Ask me something else.” His foul mood suggested I shouldn’t push any further.
“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”
He looked at me like that was a stupid question. “Is that really your question?”
“It doesn’t seem like you’ll answer anything more personal…”
When he realized I was being serious, he answered. “I’m not a big fan of ice cream, but if I were going to choose, it would be chocolate.”
“Wow. I feel like we’re best friends already.”
He chuckled then turned right again. In the distance was his villa, sitting on a small hillside with tall trees surrounding it. “Tell me about last night.”
Like I was wearing an old bandage, I decided to rip it off. “I dreamt I saw the accident that killed my parents. But this time, Joey was in the back seat.” I’d already cried last night, so I didn’t have any emotion left. I said everything simply, like it didn’t really matter. “I saw all the blood…their lifeless eyes. It felt real. I think that’s why I got so upset.” I looked out the window as we pulled up to the house, avoiding his gaze as much as possible. I wasn’t embarrassed by my feelings, but I knew he didn’t care about the way I felt. He probably just wanted to know because he was curious.
He pulled up to the driveway but didn’t get out to hand his keys over to one of his men. He kept the car running, our faces hidden behind the tinted windows. He reached over and grabbed my hand, his long fingers warm and comfortable. Once his fingers were wrapped around mine, I felt better. He had pronounced knuckles, masculine hands that handled my feminine curves with ease. His hands hinted at his strength, the power he possessed from a lifetime of wealth. He had the ability to move mountains, to make a queen blush. No matter how much I hated him, I respected his majesty. No other man in the world had the kind of influence he did. “I have dreams like that, wondering how my parents suffered before they died. I have dreams of my brother as a man, how he would have aged if he’d lived. They come and go. Some nights are worse than others.”
At least he understood.
One of his men approached the car but didn’t open the door. He purposely waited for his employer to make the first move. Crewe glanced at him before he took off his glasses and set them on the dashboard. “I want to say it gets easier as time goes on. But it never does. It’s been over twenty years, and I still haven’t made my peace with it.”
“How could you, when your family was murdered?” My parents were killed by a drunk driver, but it was unintentional manslaughter. The drunk driver didn’t have a vendetta against my parents.
“Even after I kill the man was who responsible for this, I’ll never find peace. I’ve accepted it. I’ll always look over my shoulder everywhere I go. I’ll always sleep with one eye open. I’ll carry on my family name without them, but I’ll never forget where I got my surname.”
I turned my hand in his grasp so I could feel our palms rub together. My fingers caressed his, and I could feel the dry calluses that marked his hands. I never noticed them against my tits because I was too focused on what we were doing together. “Looks like we have a lot in common.”
“We do. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”