Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Peter?”
“Yes.” She was surprised he knew Peter’s name.
“Are you sure he was only a friend?”
She’d been asking herself that same question all night. “I… thought he was a friend.”
“Speak clearly.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Was he your lover?”
Stunned by his bluntness, she shook her head.
“Are you lying? I despise liars, Ms. Darling.”
Her chin quivered. What if the truth got her punished? She didn’t know what he wanted to hear.
“I’m telling the truth.”
He wore danger the way one wears a perfectly tailored suit. Leaning forward, he dragged a knuckle up her cheek, slowly swiping away a tear, his watchful eyes missing nothing. “Convince me to trust you.”
She closed her eyes, staving off more tears. “I don’t know how.”
He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his stare. His sculpted features appeared hard as stone, a complete contradiction to the fullness of his sensual lips.
“You do know. Convince me.”
When he spoke, his voice sent shivers down her spine. His dark hair framed his face in shadows, and his gothic clothing spoke of wealth and elegance, black-on-black, with the slightest silver detail on the wrist.
He was older, perhaps in his mid-thirties. And despite the danger radiating from every square inch of him, there was something devastatingly beautiful about his cruel face.
“I’m waiting.”
“I don’t—”
He grabbed her by the jaw again and snarled, “Don’t play naive with me. You’re a female. There are a myriad of tools at your disposal. Show me why I should trust you.”
Flinging her face away, he sat back and watched her expectantly.
Did he assume she’d use her body to persuade him? What else could he mean? She was running out of time. If she didn’t do something, he was going to threaten her again.
Her voice was small, shrinking under the pressure of his dark stare. “I don’t know how to persuade you.”
“Perhaps you should get on your knees and try.”
“You want me to beg?”
“That’s a start. But I expect it will take much more than begging to get me to trust you.”
“I… I’ve never been with anyone that way before.”
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Then you’re old enough for a lover.”
“But I haven’t…that is… I don’t…” There were ways to prove her innocence, but she hoped it didn’t come to that.
He held up a silencing hand. “Do you shake from fear or cold?”
Her teeth chattered from the chill in her bones, but she trembled out of pure fear. “My clothes are soaking wet, and I’ve been on the cold floor for hours.”
He arched a brow. “That doesn’t answer my question. But it does bring about another one. Are they your clothes?”
She glanced at her sleeves and stilled. Was this Black Jack, the true owner of the stolen coat she wore?
True terror gripped her as she feared being punished for another man’s crimes. “Not the coat.”
“I assumed not.” He grinned as if her answer pleased him.
Hopefully, that was enough to win his trust. She tested the theory. “Are you going to hurt me?” As his piercing emerald gaze drilled into her, she continued to tremble.
He had a wicked smile and mouth made for sin. “Such a bold question for a quivering little mouse, but we mustn’t spoil the surprise.” He stood and pressed the wine glass to her lips. She tried to reach for it, but he pushed her cuffed hands away. “Sip. It will warm you faster than the fire can.”
She extended her neck, and he tipped the glass. The dry bouquet chased away the taste of saltwater and tears. When she pulled back, he cupped the back of her head, holding her lips to the wine as it poured down her throat.
“More.”
“Mmp—” she moaned in distress as he tipped the glass against her mouth, forcing her to keep drinking.
“That’s it. Keep going.”
Her eyes widened, wondering if he’d poisoned the wine. She swallowed and swallowed, her stomach uneasy from her rough journey and sloshing uncomfortably. Her brows pinched as she looked up at him, fearful she might be sick.
“Swallow all of it,” he said, tipping the glass so much that a trickle spilled past her lips, down her chin, and onto her chest. “Good girl.”
Her head was fuzzy, and the room spun when he finally pulled the empty goblet away.
“You take direction well.”
Her skin remained cold, but the wine had warmed her insides.
“Now, tell me again, was Peter your lover?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve never had one.”
“Which makes you what?”
Her cheeks heated. He was going to make her say it. “A virgin.”
“A virgin,” he repeated thoughtfully, rubbing his hand along the black stubble of his defined jaw. “I think more wine.”
He swapped the empty glass for the full one, and she leaned back in the chair. “Please. I can’t drink anymore.”
“Don’t be silly.” He stood, once more cupping the back of her head and looking down at her. “Open.”