Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My god. This is him. This is where that smell comes from.
It’s leather, old wood, and bookbinding. Plus Cormac’s unique musk.
“Are you alright?” He’s beside me, a hand on my back again. His fingers are so large and his palm is so strong. I turn to him and stare into his handsome face, and I catch a flicker of emotion.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” I say, raising my chin defiantly.
His hand drops away.
“I don’t see many other options, do you?”
“Beds are cheap.” I stride past him, mostly to get out of this room. I pause outside of one last door, try the handle, but it’s locked. “What’s in here?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Is this where you keep the bodies?”
“Those are all stashed at the bottom of the river.”
“And you say you’re not funny.”
“Actually, you said that.”
I storm back to his bedroom and pull out blankets and sheets from the linen closet. “Don’t worry, I’m a very practical woman.” I head back downstairs and toss everything onto the couch. “I can sleep here until Ikea comes through.”
“My wife isn’t going to sleep in the living room.”
“Are you volunteering?”
His expression hardens. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I’m glad we’ve reached this agreement,” I say brightly, my chest already a mess of anxiety. “Why do you care, anyway?”
He stares at me for a long moment. I wilt slightly under the pressure of that gaze. This man is my ghost, my stalker. He’s been in my life for seven long years, but we haven’t spoken about it just yet. Only mentioned it sideways and in passing. But I know there’s something more here. A deeper, more terrifying relationship than I ever imagined.
It’s like there’s a monster under the bed, but I’m acting as though it can’t hurt me if I don’t take a peek.
“I don’t do things halfway.” He steps closer. A leaf from a big rubber plant brushes against his leg.
“Big shock there.” I stand and face him. If I’m all meek and small, he’s going to roll over me. That’s what men like him are used to. The only language Cormac speaks is strength. So I’ll be strong. “Here’s the deal. We’re partners. We’re not married. We’re not a couple. You and me—” I gesture between us. “We’re an arrangement. Nothing more than that. Got it?”
“No.”
“You can’t just say no.” I grind my jaw, frustrated.
“I can. I did.” He picks up my pillow. “This comes with me.”
“Great, go ahead and take it. I’ll find other arrangements.” I cross my arms and hold my ground. “Or are you going to drag me up to your room?”
He licks his lips, and for a beat, I think he might. The way he’s looking at me makes me think he’d very much enjoy it. And God, I’m thinking I might too. That smell wrapped around me, those lips on my throat, his strong hands dragging me into his bed as he undresses me, panting my name the whole time—
Get it together.
Before he can argue, the doorbell rings. Relief hits me as I walk past him and find the movers out front. “Got the rest of your things, ma’am.” Their foreman is a big white guy with a buzz cut. “Where do you want it?”
“Pile it all here.” I glance at my husband, but he’s already disappearing upstairs. “I’ll deal with it later.”
The cushions are scratchy. There’s a noise nearby and I grumble to myself, only half awake as I roll onto my side. How long was I asleep for? My back hurts. I feel like all the plants are staring at me.
I let out a frustrated sigh, not sure what woke me up.
The house sounds wrong.
All the creaks and cracks make me jumpy. The noises outside feel off too. The pitch of the cop cars and the ambulances makes my blood run cold.
Not home. Not even close.
Cormac refused to budge about the whole sleeping together thing. When it became clear I wasn’t going to give in to his demands, he retreated into his office and pretended like I didn’t exist. Which gave me some time to pile my stuff in the largest of the empty rooms, figuring that’ll be mine.
But until a bed comes, I’m stuck here.
There’s a movement in the kitchen and I suck in a surprised breath. I sit up, looking over my shoulder.
Cormac’s standing there, staring back at me.
Is this a dream? A weird one if it is. Usually I’m naked or late for work. But no, I’m definitely awake. And that’s definitely my husband wearing only a pair of black shorts and nothing on top.
His muscles are incredible. The tattoos that cover every inch of his skin are terrifying.
He looks like hell. But the good kind.
“What are you doing?” I ask, groggy. I rub a knuckle against my spine, trying to loosen the knots. God, this couch is awful.