Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
I stand behind Camille Logan at the beauty department in Harvey Nichols, watching the lady behind the counter produce product after product for Camille to try, giving gushing, positive opinions on every shade of lipstick she applies to Camille’s lips. Personally, I think her lips look the loveliest in their natural state, but I’m guessing my opinion isn’t needed or wanted. I resort to closing my eyes when Camille bends over in front of me, leaning into a mirror to check the latest shade staining her lips. She’s doing that on purpose, too. In my blackness, I force my thoughts straight, wiping the mental image of her tight arse within grabbing distance, and only open my eyes again once I’m sure I’ve got ahold of my composure.
I should have kept them closed. She’s looking at me in the reflection of the mirror, rolling her lips together slowly for a few teasing seconds before she smacks them and pouts. My cock twitches, and I cough, quickly looking away and taking the opportunity to scope the joint. She definitely did that on purpose.
I’m not playing her silly games. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking yesterday morning, creeping up on me like that. One ill-judged move on my part and she could have been dead in my arms. When I had her pinned to the floor, I saw none of the fright that should have been there. There was something else, and I didn’t like the look of it. It was tempting. Annoyingly tempting. I only just stopped myself from attacking her mouth with mine.
And then last night, making me endure her and that silly friend of hers. God, I’ve never struggled so much, and it had nothing to do with the girlie shit she was inflicting on me. My damn eyes refused to stay trained on my laptop. They kept taking on a mind of their own and searching her out. Her face, so beautiful anyway, is beyond stunning when she’s smiling. She doesn’t smile much in the pictures that are taken of her. It’s all moody and mostly expressionless. It’s a fucking waste.
I look at Camille and my heart slows. Her presence, though challenging, is settling. I can’t for the life of me figure it out.
This a fucking problem, because I shouldn’t be looking at her like I do, and I definitely shouldn’t be having these damn stupid thoughts. But it hasn’t escaped my attention that I didn’t have one black thought yesterday, and last night while I was trying to get comfy on that damn couch, I was thinking of Camille, and Camille alone. It’s a relief and a worry in equal measure.
I cast my eyes around the hall, avoiding Camille and that mirror. My phone chiming is perfect timing. After meeting Camille’s half-brother, TJ, I immediately texted Lucinda and had her dig deeper on him. I didn’t like him. He’s shifty and has a smarmy face that begs to be punched…a bit like their father’s. I can’t tell you how hard it was to resist doing exactly that. Camille’s brother, the cheeky fucker, had the nerve to tell me to look after her. Idiot! Having something interesting pulled up on him would have given me the excuse I was looking for to rip him apart.
I open Lucinda’s message. It tells me her digging has brought up nothing. Clean as a fucking whistle. Of course he is. I sigh and bash out a reply.
The courier? Who delivered that threat?
There was no courier. Not that day, anyway.
I frown down at the screen, not knowing what it means to have my suspicions confirmed. I abandon texting and call her, wandering a few feet away from Camille, but keeping my eyes trained on her. “No courier?” I say when she picks up.
“Nope. Nothing.”
“He’s hiding something,” I muse, dropping my eyes to the floor, thinking.
“Then let’s ask him.”
“No, don’t give him any reason to believe we’re on his case.”
“Then what now?”
I look up to Camille. She’s still bent over that damn mirror. “He wouldn’t hire me for nothing,” I say, concluding Logan must genuinely fear for his daughter’s safety. I’m no precautionary measure. “Keep digging.” I hang up, slipping my phone back into my pocket. I’m frustrated. Every angle is a dead end, and that white van outside Camille’s agent’s office was definitely suspicious. I’ve been in the job long enough to know when something is suspect.
I glance around. It’s obscenely busy, women flooding the counters, credit cards being thrown about willy-nilly. It’s hell.
After Camille has forced me to suffer an hour of the god-awful beauty department, she wanders off, leaving me to follow. The mix of a million scents begins to irritate my nose, forcing me to rub the itch away before I break out in a sneezing fit.
As we round a corner, I see a security guard up ahead, his body bowling toward us fast. A swift assessment of the situation tells me why. I quickly search out Camille and find her heading straight for his path, engrossed on her phone.