Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“I still think it’s the only option.”
“And I still think I’ll come up with something else.”
She pushes to her feet, looking frustrated. “It’s not just about protecting me though, is it?”
I tilt my head. “What else would it be?”
“It’s about protecting your investment. It’s about… protecting this.” She puts a hand over her belly. “Don’t act like I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”
“Marriage is one thing, but there’s nothing like a baby to bring two organizations together.”
She turns her back on me. I can’t tell how she feels about that, but I’m guessing it’s not good.
This is a woman who craves control over her life. She’s impulsive and passionate, and yet she wishes she had more agency over the direction of her future. It must be hard knowing she has no say in whether she gets pregnant or not.
That’s the ultimate hell for her.
She doesn’t even get to say what happens to her own body.
If I feel guilty, I shove it back down. That’s just weakness talking. Pity’s not going to fix our situation.
We’ll be lucky if we even get to the point of knocking her up before Mantis ends us both.
“Let me know when you change your mind,” she says and heads to the door.
“You can help,” I say without thinking. It spills out of my mouth, and I don’t even know where it came from. Now I feel like her, saying whatever comes through my head. But normally, I have better self-control than that.
“Really?” She perks up slightly. “You’re going to let me steal the key?”
“I’m going to keep you involved in my plans.”
She frowns, clearly not happy about that. “Sounds like a load of crap to me.”
“Best you’re going to get.”
She turns back to the door. “Keep me updated.” Her hips sway slightly as she leaves my office.
God, I’m weak for that woman, and I don’t even know why.
Chapter 15
Riley
I turn the dial on my safe and listen to the satisfying click as it opens. The door swings out, and I look in at all my little treasures.
The bedroom behind me is empty. The closet all around me is basically raided to the studs. A few random things are still hanging around on the top shelf, but I’ll bring all that over to Alexan’s house in the next few days.
I guess I should call it our house.
I’m still getting used to the idea of living there. I’ve added a few little touches here and there to try to make it my own, but it still feels weirdly barren and cold.
Alexan doesn’t help. When he’s not angrily staring at his computer screen, he’s stomping around, complaining about my mess, which is, like, a single used glass left on a counter or a pair of pants left on the floor.
The guy’s a neat freak, par excellence.
But the worst part is the night. He reads nearly naked, his ripped body like a beacon for every single impulsive, horny, intrusive thought I have, and it takes a lot of willpower not to cross any lines. Meanwhile, he loves staring at my tits, especially my pierced nipple.
I keep picturing his mouth sucking on it hard. He could probably make me come just tonguing my piercing.
Except that’s not even the bad part.
No, the terrible thing is he keeps asking me questions about myself.
It’s infuriating. I keep thinking he’ll finally let me sleep in peace until I hear his voice in the darkness. It’s always about me: my taste in movies, TV, music, that sort of thing. He asks about friends from high school, about what I would’ve majored in if I had gone to college, all that stuff, and never once does he talk about himself.
It’s always about me.
And I hate him for it.
Because nobody’s ever shown any interest in me like that before. Not night after night for nearly a week now. We end up talking for hours sometimes, and I don’t even realize how much time has passed until I look at the clock. When he’s not being an overbearing asshole, time seems to slip away like water through my hands when we’re lying in bed together.
It’s beyond frustrating.
Life is easier when he’s nothing but an ice-cold bastard. But the way he seems deeply interested in everything I say makes me think there’s more going on underneath the surface than I realized.
“I know a guy with a stash just like yours.”
I jump and nearly hit my head on the wall. Brenden’s behind me, grinning slightly as he cranes his neck to look in my safe.
“Could you not?” I slam the door shut. “Where’d you come from, anyway?”
“You’re not hard to sneak up on. Where do you think you learned it, anyway?”
He’s got a point. I’m more than a little distracted these days.
“Who’s the guy?” I ask, coming out of the closet.