Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
A performance.
A deflection.
Under the cocky grin and flippant remarks, there’s depth. Pain. Maybe rage. I don’t know why that realization disturbs me more than his violence earlier. Maybe because it makes me want to understand him. To see what’s behind that chaos-colored mask.
That’s a problem.
I don’t need more trouble in my life. I’m already neck-deep in it. I don’t need a wild, beautiful, emotionally unstable man with a tragic past and a dangerous smile.
Too late now.
I’m on his yacht, moving through dark water toward an island I’ve never seen, with a stranger I should’ve refused.
The lights of Sitka grow dim behind us, swallowed by fog and sea. The island waits somewhere ahead, shadowed and ominous. Whatever’s coming, I’ve already made my choice.
“You scare me,” I admit, staring across the water. “But not for the reasons you probably think. Not in a bad way. More like…”
“Like?”
“Like someone who learned to survive by pretending they’re bulletproof.”
“Hm.” He draws on the cigarette and sighs through the exhale. “What gave me away?”
“Smiling through your teeth. Grudges dressed as jokes. Acting like you know what you’re doing, even when you don’t. Rehearsed confidence. You carry yourself like someone who’s been shot too many times to worry about the next bullet.”
The haunted look in his eyes doesn’t match the smile he gives me. “When I saw you run down the street like you fled a castle, I thought… Holy hellfire and heartbreak, I’ve stepped into a dark fairy tale. Your dress moved as if caught in a dream, flowing behind you as you ran. But it wasn’t marital bliss that trailed you. It was sorrow. You looked like you were halfway to forever before the world yanked it out from under you. Doesn’t help that you’re insanely beautiful. Makes it that much harder to look away.”
He should talk. The man oozes perfect genes from every pore.
“All I could think was…” He rests his forearms on the railing, shaking his head. “She shouldn’t be real. Fairy tales aren’t real. Not for people like me. But here you are. You’re real. And being part of your story, even if just a small, insignificant part, has sent me to a dimension of utter joy.” He straightens. “We’re here.”
My breath hitches at his declaration. Then it hitches again as I take in the view.
The island rises out of the water, silent, hidden, and entirely otherworldly. Soaring evergreens blanket every inch, their canopies so thick they knit the sky shut.
In Anaheim, everything is sun-bleached and buzzing, with an overabundance of strip malls, traffic, and baking concrete.
Here, moisture and mystery saturate the air, swollen with the scent of pine, damp earth, and cold moss.
The gentle purr of the yacht feels intrusive as if it shouldn’t be here.
Half-hidden in the trees, a stone mansion emerges from the shadows. Massive and still, it glows with the warmth of golden light that pulses behind tall windows.
The estate doesn’t stand atop the island. It’s cradled by it. Like the forest grew around it and decided to keep it.
The beauty here is rich and wild, much like the man at my side. The sort of beauty that comes with a warning, a trick of the light that lures unsuspecting souls and traps them forever.
I clutch the railing, my insides tumbling in free fall.
A dark fairy tale, indeed.
Curiosity wars with misgiving as I follow Wolf into the mansion. The skirt of my once-white gown drags across the pristine floors like a dishwater mop.
The warm jacket lifts from my shoulders, and he hangs it in the entryway. Since he doesn’t remove his boots, I keep mine.
And gape.
This isn’t a house. It’s a goddamn lifestyle flex. Stunning beams, massive glass windows, and high ceilings that feel like a cathedral if it were designed by a billionaire lumberjack with an inclination for moody art.
Fire dances in a stone hearth, licking the air with orange tongues. The living room, foyer, and rooms beyond are all designer shapes and rich-people textures. Pretty sure that twelve-person sectional would swallow me whole, and honestly, I wouldn’t fight it.
Wolf doesn’t give me enough time to admire each room properly as he pulls me along. His devil-may-care pushiness is both maddening and magnetic.
We climb a grand staircase. Real wood, thick and strong. Iron railing, cold under my fingertips. The air grows warmer as we ascend, more intimate.
Where is he taking me? A guest bedroom? I really need out of this heavy, wet dress.
He leads me down a hallway lined with closed doors and stops before one that’s ajar. Glancing back at me with a mischievous smile, he swings it open and grabs my hand.
My muscles freeze.
He hauls me inside.
The smell hits first. Skin. Sweat. Sleep. And something deeper. Something feral.
Sex.
Then my eyes adjust to the darkness.
A massive bed squats in the center of the room. Like comically massive. Custom made.