Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
He stares at me for a long moment. “You're here because our families arranged a marriage.” A pause. “Between you and me.”
The world tilts.
He huffs out a breath without a trace of humor. “You never did have a poker face. You look like I just told you you’re marrying the devil himself.”
Marriage.
To Cavin McCarthy.
To the man standing in front of me right now, whose hand is still wrapped around mine, whose eyes are still burning into me like he wants to… What? What does he want?
The bell rings again—sharp and shrill, echoing down the hall like a countdown.
“I can’t fucking believe they didn’t tell you.” He shakes his head, but his grip on my hand tightens. “We have to go. My mother gets impatient when that bell rings.” His voice drops. “And you’ve already gotten me in enough trouble for a lifetime.”
I wrench my hand free and stumble back.
I’m still wearing his fucking coat. I rip it off and throw it at his face. Hard. He catches it one-handed and doesn’t even flinch.
Then he moves, fast, before I can react. His hand closes around my wrist and spins me. My chest hits the wall.
“That,” he growls in my ear, “was a fucking mistake.”
Oh god. I push, struggle, but can’t get away from him. “Let go of—”
Smack.
His palm connects with my arse, hard, through the thin fabric of my dress. The sound echoes down the hallway, and the sting blooms hot. I gasp and try to twist away. He holds me in place with one hand pressed between my shoulder blades.
The other—smack.
“You want to act like a brat? In my house?” His voice is gravel. “I told you we’re going to be married, Erin. You will learn to respect your husband.”
Smack.
Oh god.
Heat floods through me, and not just where his hand landed. Everywhere.
“Stop—”
Smack.
“That’s not your safe word.” His breath is hot against my neck. “You haven’t earned one yet.”
My dress has ridden up, so the next smack lands on bare skin, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
“Feel that?” he asks. His hand smooths over the burning skin. Possessive. “That’s what happens when you throw things at me.” He leans in closer, his body pressed against my back. I can feel how hard he is.
“And Erin?” His hand slides up and grips my hip. “Next time, I won’t stop at five.” He releases me suddenly and steps back. I’m shaking. Burning. My arse stings, my thighs are slick, and I can’t—I can’t—
“Pick up my coat,” he orders. “Now.” I turn, glaring at him through the blur of tears and rage and something else I don’t want to name.
His eyes are black, his pupils blown and his jaw tight.
Cavin McCarthy is as affected as I am.
“Pick. It. Up.” I bend down slowly, my cheeks on fire, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. It was petulant of me to throw it at him. I’m not a child anymore.
His fingers brush mine when I hold it out to him. “Good girl,” he says softly, dangerously. “See how easy that was?” Then he drapes the coat over my shoulders again. “Keep it. You’ll need it.”
His thumb traces my jaw. “You’re shaking.”
“I hate you.”
”I know.” He leans in. His lips brush my ear. “But your body doesn’t. Does it?”
I open my mouth to protest, but I’ve forgotten how to speak.
His voice drops to a whisper, low enough that only I can hear. “Do us both a favor tonight.” It doesn’t sound like a request, not the way he says it. Not with his body angled toward mine like he’s caging me in without touching me, and the sting of his palm is still throbbing on my arse. “Pretend to like me.”
I stop breathing. “Why the hell would I do that?”
He holds my gaze for one more second—long enough that I see something dangerous flash in his eyes. Long enough that I feel an answering pull low in my belly that I absolutely do not want. “Because otherwise, they might call off the arrangement. And we both need this marriage, don't we? You, for whatever reason brought you here. Me, for mine.”
He walks away, leaving me trembling against the wall with my arse on fire and heat pooling between my legs.
Bastard.
I freeze. Disbelief burns to fury, then burns to something I don’t have a name for. He glances back once. There’s amusement in his expression, but also tension. Conflict. He doesn’t like this any more than I do. But the way he looked at me, like he wanted to devour me and destroy me in equal measure. I press my palms against the cool wall and try to remember how to breathe.
Cavin McCarthy, my… husband?
What just happened?
Chapter Eight
Cavin
The dining room feels too stuffy, too formal. All gold and noise and too bright for the hour. Light reflects off the silverware, and for a second, I wonder if this is what Erin sees.