Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
His deep chuckle sent a shiver through me, and, God, I really hated that. The way he could make my body react to him. I wanted to rip him from my heart. It would make my life so much easier.
“Thank fuck,” he replied. “I always thought he lacked edge. Clark Kent was a pussy. I much preferred Lex Luthor. His ruthlessness, power that was realistic, his drive, and his self-perseverance.”
I frowned. “Lex Luthor was manipulative and selfish. He lacked morals,” I argued. But then I was beginning to think perhaps Ransom did too. Lack morals, that was.
He tilted his head slightly and grinned wickedly. “Exactly.”
Oh, how I wished that smile didn’t make my heart race the way it did. But it seemed that Ransom Carver was my kryptonite. I reacted to him even when I knew the danger to my heart.
“What are you doing here, Ransom?” I demanded. I wasn’t going to go back and forth with him about some stupid comic hero or villain.
“Watching you sleep. Calming the shit in my head. Soaking in your scent.”
The darkness in his tone sounded tortured. Or perhaps that was my imagination. He had no reason to be tortured unless he was dealing with guilt. Man-whore guilt. I was the one who was being hurt. The one being cast aside.
“Liar,” I spat. “You don’t want to see me awake or asleep. Your silence made that very clear.”
He leaned down just enough to reach out and grab my ankle. Before I could try and pull it free, he tugged it hard enough that it slid me to the edge of the bed. Toward him. His face was so close to mine that his breath warmed my skin.
“You’re all I fucking think about from the moment I open my eyes until they finally close from exhaustion,” he growled, tightening his grip on me. “Don’t think for a second that this isn’t killing me. It’s goddamn torture. It’s why I’m here, in your room, watching you. It’s why I’ve been here four other times, doing the same thing. Needing to be near you.”
I swallowed hard. Emotion caused my throat to feel thick. I didn’t understand any of this. Why was he suffering? Why was he sneaking into my apartment at night when he had chosen to stay away and shut me out? Why was he with another woman?
“No! You don’t!” I shouted, shoving at him, although he didn’t budge. “You don’t get to touch me, Ransom, or feed me your bullshit. I saw the distillery’s Instagram post. The one where you’re all wrapped around little Miss Daisy Dukes! While I was here, worrying about you! Afraid you’d been arrested for murder!” A tear slid down my face as my brokenness began to seep through the wall I had tried to build around it.
His brows drew together, as if he was confused, and then I watched as realization hit him. Jesus, had he already forgotten about the woman? What, had he fucked her, too, and then tossed her aside for the next in line?
He cupped the side of my face, and I jerked away from it. There was a flash of humor in his golden depths as he used the back of his finger to wipe away the tear from my cheek.
“Wrapped around her is a bit of a reach, Shakespeare,” he said softly.
Did he think this was funny? I tried again to move back from him, but his hand on my ankle tightened, and he tugged me even closer.
“You’re feisty when jealous.”
My hand moved then, and the crack that sounded across his cheek startled me more than it did him. I froze in horror. I’d slapped him. I’d never slapped anyone in my life.
With his free hand, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand to his mouth. I watched, still in shock at my reaction, as he pressed a kiss to my open palm. What was he doing? I’d hit him. But he had been laughing at my being hurt. No, not hurt. I had been destroyed.
When his eyes locked back on mine, they were tender. Not the reaction to my actions one would expect.
“That woman’s name is Montana Carrigan, and if my brother gets his way, it’ll be Montana Carver before too long,” he said. “That was the distillery’s employee Christmas party. I’d been in a fucking shitty mood all day, and Than said something to set me off. I grabbed his woman, knowing it would get under his skin, and pulled her to me just as the photographer told us to raise our glasses and smile for the camera.”
Oh.
I swallowed hard, and for the first time in days, breathing wasn’t painful. The tightness in my chest was gone.
He dropped his head, and the brush of his lips against my shoulder made me shudder. I didn’t need to be reacting to this. I shouldn’t allow him to touch me. Yet my entire body felt as if he’d set it on fire from that one simple caress. That, and the relief pulsing through me. Relief that he hadn’t been with someone else. He’d been having a bad day. The smile hadn’t been real.