Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The room’s glow feels like a trap suddenly, all that golden light mocking the ashes in my chest as I stand there, glaring impotently at him. My hands clench, nails biting into my palms, and I decide right then: this ends now. No more games, no more dodging his arrogance. I’m done.
“You’re not hearing me,” I snap furiously. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—any more contact, and I’m calling the cops. This goes legal. You think triple’s a flex? I’ll get three times that value in court for aggravation and harassment—hell, maybe a hundred times. Read my lips. You’re not getting my land. I’ve tried to be polite, kind even, but your behaviour is now bordering on bullying. Is it because I’m a woman? Can’t take my ‘no’ seriously? This is your last warning, Don’t call on me, don’t invite me to tea, and don’t ever again ask about my land. I’m never selling. Not to you and not to anyone.”
My chest heaves, and my breath feels hot and jagged as my words spill out like venom. His unreadable gray eyes flicker, and for a second, I think I’ve got him. But then he lifts his teacup to his lips, and says reflectively, “Eat something, at least. You must be hungry. You’ve been working all day. We can talk, negotiate.”
Negotiate? The word’s a spark to dry tinder, and my anger flares hotter. I open my mouth to shut him down, but his elegant yet masculine hand is already reaching for a delicate egg sandwich, his movements intentional, like he’s daring me to watch him eat. I want to scream, to storm out, but my eyes lock on him hungrily. I hate it, but it is impossible not to stare. There is no way to tear my gaze away from the sight of him.
I want to watch him eat!
He takes a bite, lips closing around the strip of bread, and there’s something in the way he does it, confidence and ease, that sends my heart slamming against my ribs. My stomach flutters, a traitor to my resolve, and I jerk my gaze away as heat crawls up my neck. I’m here to fight, not swoon. The embarrassment of lusting for such a demon stings like a slap.
Get it together, Lauren.
I force my voice to be steady and grab at the one question that’s been gnawing at me. “Why do you want the land so bad?” I ask, crossing my arms tight to keep from shaking. “You’ve got more than enough. Is it some uber-rich-person thing—owning everything and everyone in sight?”
He pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and his eyes meet mine, amused and searching. “No,” he says, his voice low and so calm it makes me look like I’m the unhinged one. “The property has always belonged to my family until my great-grandfather unwisely divided it, and gave ownership of your piece to his fickle mistress.”
The words hit like a jolt, my breath catching. A mistress? My mind spins, grasping for connections. “Are we… related?” I blurt, the question spilling out before I can stop it.
He shakes his head quickly as if even the idea is ridiculous. “No, no, of course not. His mistress sold it as soon as the affair was over to her nephew. Your great-grandfather, I believe. Upon his death, it passed down to his wife. Then it remained empty for some years until your grandmother claimed it about twenty-three years ago.”
I’m stunned, my lost history sinking in like stones in deep water. My cottage, tied to his family, by what must have been a scandalous affair in that time? A mistress in a cottage at the bottom of the garden. It’s dizzying and exciting. I must research her. “Well,” I say, finding my voice, “now that I know all this, I’m definitely not selling. This land’s got my family’s story in it, too.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Why do you want it so much?” he asks, turning my question back on me. “It’s just a piece of land. You’re young and carefree. There is nothing here for you. Isn’t the money more important?”
I bristle; the implication stings. “For you rich types, maybe money’s everything. But I care about the legacy—my grandmother’s, my family’s. That’s why I’m keeping it. Even if I decide to sell someday, it’ll be my choice, not yours. No amount of coercion will change that. So please respect my decision.”
He stares, unblinking, as his dreamy teeth take another bite of his sandwich. He chews slowly, deliberately, savoring the food. I’m mesmerized despite myself, caught in the intensity of his gaze, the way his jaw moves. I don’t want to look away—it’d feel like admitting defeat, like I’m some coward who can’t hold her ground. But it’s too much, his eyes are boring into me, and my nerves falter.