Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
She’s wrong.
Holding Raven’s future over my head may have bought her a little time, but I’m not tame. I’ve let her run the show and pull the strings because she’s pregnant and I won’t let her go to prison while she’s carrying Brant’s kid. But she fucked up the minute she lashed out at Raven. When it comes to protecting what belongs to me, I bite. While I may not be able to take Raven to my bed, that doesn’t make her any less mine.
I’ll be on the first plane leaving the island as soon as the last raindrop falls. Marnie will be having a change of heart about cutting her off. My songbird will be finishing school on time. If Marnie intends to hold onto Brant’s fortune by keeping Raven from graduating, that won’t be happening. She’ll play by my rules where Raven is concerned, or the only place we’re going after Brant’s kid is born is to prison. I’ll destroy my own future to fuck her over without hesitation.
I just need time to sort out the details first and figure out what I’m missing. Whatever it is…I’m pretty fucking certain it’s the key to this whole mess. It’s the answer to why Brant was laundering money through his company. It’s the answer to why Marnie killed him. Hell, maybe it’s even the answer to why she dragged me into it and why she’s trying to cut Raven out now.
There’s always an inciting incident, something that starts the boulder rolling downhill. Trying to find it when you’re missing half the puzzle is a pain in the ass.
“Um, hey,” Raven says from the doorway behind me. “What’s that?”
“Case file,” I say, shoving the last few pages into the folder and then closing it.
“Oh. A big one?”
“Something like that.” I tuck it under my arm, turning slowly to face her.
She looks like a little kid playing dress-up in my clothes, but damn, they look good on her. She tied the t-shirt up at her waist in a knot, allowing the tiniest sliver of her abdomen to show in brief, enticing flashes that already have my core temperature rising fifteen degrees. One sleeve hangs off her shoulder. Even dressed, she’s far too tempting. Far too beautiful. She probably has to beat college boys off with a fucking stick.
Jealousy eats me alive at the thought. The little bastards don’t even know what to do with a woman like her. They don’t know how to eke out every drop of pleasure from that body, or how to take care of her after. They probably just pump until they cum and then pass out on top of her, not even caring if they got her off or if she enjoyed it. The bastards.
“Why are you growling at me?” she asks, her nose scrunching. “I’m completely covered.”
Because I want to kill anyone who ever touched you.
Because I’d kill to be the only one who touches you ever again.
“Are you hungry?” I ask instead of opening that can of worms.
“Not really.”
“Raven.”
“I’m not hungry, Rhys.”
“Bullshit. I can practically hear your stomach growling from here.”
“Fine. Maybe I’m a little hungry,” she says, averting her gaze. A pretty blush climbs up her cheeks, staining them pink. “I haven’t eaten today.”
I stare at her for a minute, perplexed as to why she didn’t want to tell me that. And then realization dawns. I grit out a curse, my stomach sinking into my soles. “You’re afraid of me.”
She’s a beautiful little songbird, all shy and sweet. Compared to her, I’m a gruff, mean bastard. Her world is probably full of pretty boys and rich assholes in designer duds. They learned to charm before they learned to talk. That’s not me. I’ve spent too goddamn long working with criminals, visiting the places no one wants to go, dealing with the kinds of people no one wants to deal with. When you spend your life in the dark, the shadows stain you. They claimed me a long time ago.
Her wide, startled eyes meet mine. “What? No, I’m not.”
“Then why’d you lie to me?”
“You don’t like me much,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
I stare at her for a full five count, caught off-guard. And then I shake my head and cross to the fridge. “Sit down, princess. I’ll make you something to eat.” I set the folder on top of the fridge and start pulling out stuff to make her a sandwich. “Why do you think I don’t like you?”
“You were mean to me the first time we met.” She shuffles across the kitchen to the table. Halfway there, a clap of thunder rattles the windowpanes, and she squeaks like a little mouse and then laughs self-consciously. “Sorry.”
“Never apologize for being you,” I say, watching as she pulls out a chair and sinks gracefully into it. She moves like a dream. I bet she danced when she was younger. Her body flows from one movement to the next like a ballerina’s. Shit, I wish more ballerinas looked like her. I might actually watch the shit instead of sleeping through it when my stepmom forces me to go every Christmas. There’s something beautiful about watching a curvy woman move. It’s erotic as hell. “Make all the noise you want. This place could use it.”