Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t think of any words.
Cormac’s piercing stare rakes down my skin. Tingles run down my bare arms. A hunger seems to flicker across his expression, and he licks his perfect lips with a pink tongue. I imagine that tongue jammed into my mouth.
“You look lost,” he says, his head tilting slightly to the side as his eyes finally meet mine. Like he’s had enough of feasting on my body.
What the hell is with this guy?
I probably should’ve listened to Adriano and stayed far away.
But it’s too late now.
“Your dad and your brother went for a tour of the city. I thought I’d check and see if you needed anything.”
“I don’t.”
“Right. That’s good.” I stare at him, not moving. He doesn’t budge an inch either, only holding my gaze. What should’ve been excruciatingly awkward feels more like a battle of wills instead. As if he were daring me to turn and walk away. “Do you like horror movies?” I blurt out instead of giving him what he wants.
His eyebrows raise. “I’m not a movies person.” His voice is a low rumble, and I feel like an idiot.
His life is probably a horror film.
“Of course not.” I turn away, my cheeks burning. This was such a stupid idea. I start to walk away, but his voice makes me stop.
“But if I do watch something, the bloodier the better.”
I let out a choked laugh and look back. He’s still staring, his jaw flexing like he’s pissed at himself for calling me back. “That’s exactly what I say. If there are not at least a few gruesome murders, what’s the point?”
“You don’t seem like you have a dark streak.”
“And you don’t seem like the type of guy that strolls through a flower garden, but here we are.”
His lips quirk into a slight smile, which he quickly stifles. “It’s quiet. I like that.”
“What else do you like?”
“Being alone.”
“Sounds miserable.” I decide to ignore the clear meaning and press onward. “You probably like metal bands.” His eyes narrow. “No, actually, hardcore. You’re into the violent screaming, aren’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he murmurs, sending another thrill into my belly.
I get closer to him, doing it as casually as I can, like I’m just joining my future brother-in-law for a friendly walk. He looks about as suspicious as a man in his situation possibly can, but I don’t give a damn.
Just a little closer.
I’m nervous. My heart’s hammering. I try to come off as calm and casual, but I probably seem like an absolute lunatic. One little sniff…
“Have you ever picked up a frying pan in your life?”
He seems taken aback again. “Only to bludgeon someone to death.”
My eyes widen and my pulse skitters. “Wait, seriously?”
“Would you leave me alone if I said yes?”
“Probably not. I might ask for details.”
That clearly annoys him. “Didn’t your brother warn you about me?”
“He did. I’m choosing to ignore it. You seem harmless enough.” Which is a total fucking lie. I just need him to stay still so I can lean in and—
“You should’ve listened,” he says, almost snarling as he backs away. God damn it. I need him to stay still. “Go get to know my brother. Don’t waste your time on me.”
“We’re going to be family soon, right? Might as well start getting comfortable with each other.”
He grunts and starts walking a little too fast. I have to hurry to keep pace. “You won’t see me much.”
“Why are you here then? Moral support?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re trying to make sure I’m good enough for him, aren’t you?”
His jaw flexes again, and the knuckles on his fingers are white. He’s struggling with something, but I don’t understand why that bothers him so much. He turns on me, glaring hard, and I can tell he’s about to use all of his scary-as-fuck killer personality to send me away.
And it’s going to work.
I’m already freaking terrified right now and fighting through it.
Which means I have one shot.
God, I’m so stupid.
“Stop playing games and just—” he starts to say but gets cut off.
As I trip on a pretend root and go stumbling right into his arms.
He catches me, his rough hands on my hips. For a split second, all I can feel are his muscles and his warmth. He’s so freaking warm, like a boiler, heat burning from his masculine skin. His mouth opens in surprise and shock and something else, something worse, something hungry, as his fingers dig into my sides like he doesn’t want to let me go.
I take a deep breath.
And it fucking hits me right in the skull.
The smell.
Spicy, musky, intense.
It brings back so many memories of stolen objects: a pink fuzzy hand towel, a single blue slipper, a small porcelain jar with flowers on the outside, a mug with a bird and ivy wrapped around the edge, at least two different TV remotes, and more and more. Dozens of items, all of them missing. All of them with this smell left behind.