Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do! You say it like…like…"
"Like what?"
"Like you don't believe it."
"What if I don't?" he taunts, crowding me up against the wall. Jeez. How did this end with me against another wall? I'm the one who is supposed to be on the offensive this time. "What if I think your little story about being in love with him is a crock of shit?"
"That's your prerogative," I say, shrugging. "But delusion doesn't look good on you, Jareth."
"You know what does look good on me?" He tips my head back, leaning down over me. "You, Zoya. You look damn good all over me."
"Jareth," I groan. "Did you drag me out here just to torment me? Was your text last night not enough?"
"So you read it, huh?" He grins triumphantly, and I want to kiss that stupid expression off his face. "How long did it take before you were coming all over your fingers, baby?"
"I didn't," I lie like the wind.
"Little liar." He dips his head, kissing me. "I bet you made yourself come so fucking hard, imagining it was me between your thighs."
"Did not." I shove him off me. "Do you actually have an issue with the catering or not?"
His eyes light up. "Come see," he says, trying to link our fingers together. And maybe I'm the delusional one, because I let him do it. I let him hold my hand all the way to the back door of the restaurant. And part of me thrills to that simple touch, eating it up like it's life-sustaining.
My stomach growls when we enter the kitchen, and the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts toward me.
"Sit here," Jareth orders, nudging me toward a stool pulled up at a prep station.
I reluctantly plop onto the stool, watching as he strides across the kitchen and disappears around the corner. He reappears two seconds later, juggling a covered tray in his hands.
"What is this?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously as he sets it in front of me.
"Open it."
I hesitate a moment before curiosity gets the better of me. I reluctantly pull the lid off and then blink at the various dishes arranged on the tray. "Uh, this isn't dessert, Jareth. It's the whole damn menu."
"We need someone to taste it before the wedding," he says, shrugging.
"Again, that should be Nadia or Teo."
"She told me to ask you. She said she trusts your judgment."
"No, she did not." There are a million things Nadia may trust. My judgment is not on that list. It's not in the same dimension as that list.
"She did," he says earnestly.
Why is everyone working against me? First, Connor. Now, my own sister. It's like they're determined to throw me into Jareth's path just to see what I do. It's maddening!
"She's not feeling well today," he murmurs. "Morning sickness."
My irritation dissolves in a puff of smoke. "Fine, I'll taste it," I grumble. "But only because she doesn't feel well."
He grins as if I just handed him a winning lottery ticket. However, judging by the sheer luxury of this place, I don't think he needs a winning lottery ticket. His family is loaded, the kind of loaded that even Aunt Miranda and Teo can't compete with.
His grin slips as he stares at me, his eyes darkening. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Don't," I whisper, breaking his gaze.
"Don't what? Tell you the truth?"
"Don't act like this is going anywhere," I growl, frustrated. "It isn't. It can't!"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because…because…because I won't even be here in ten days!" I cry, throwing up my hands. "I'll go back to my life in Tennessee, and you'll still be here. So why keep heading down a path that only leads to heartbreak?"
"Are you so sure it will?" he asks, his eyes locked on my face. "Or is that just what you've convinced yourself to keep me at arm's length?"
I hesitate, weighing the question. Maybe I have been working overtime to convince myself that this is only going to lead to heartbreak, but it's not like I'm wrong. I know myself too well to think I can love him from afar without cracking apart. I haven't been running from the thought of it for so damn long for no reason. If something can go wrong, it usually does. And I'm usually the one who poured the gasoline that started the fire. "Long-distance relationships don't work, Jareth. Short-distance relationships rarely work."
"Such a pessimist," he says, tsking.
"No, I'm a realist."
"Or maybe you're just afraid to take a chance and prove yourself wrong." He scoops up a bite of pasta on a fork, holding it out to me. "Maybe you've spent so long running from the possibility of love that you don't know how to stop."
"That's not true," I protest, biting the pasta off the fork with so much force that my teeth clack against the tines.