Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“We are being reckless so why the fuck not.” I pour her a glass. I walk it over to her, my shoes the only sound in this unearthly silent place. Even Cotton is quietly watching from her corner.
“Reckless, huh?” She sips her whiskey while I watch. She licks her lips.
Her pale skin is a contrast to her dark hair. She takes her lower lip between her teeth as she looks around the room properly, the walls, the ceiling made of the raw curving natural rock of the cliff. It is something to see, my house. Almost as interesting to look at as she is.
It took three years to build and cost a fucking fortune. It is my sanctuary. The only place I call home. And the fact that she’s the only woman I’ve ever brought here is not lost on me.
She finishes her whiskey sets her glass down on the coffee table.
“You know you sip those, right?”
“I don’t feel like this is a night for sipping whiskey by the fire.” She walks toward Cotton whose tail starts thumping as Amal gives her a few cuddles. “No TV?” she asks casually, turning back to me.
“That’s my TV,” I say, gesturing to the windows through which we watch night turn the water a black. “You hungry?”
She shakes her head.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. She hears it because her gaze drops to it. I ignore it. I know who it’ll be. What he’ll want. But Cassian’s not one to drop things so when I don’t respond to his texts, he calls.
“You should probably get that,” she says. She, too, knows who it is.
I don’t. I silence the call instead. Fuck Cassian. I want to hold on to this moment a little while longer.
“You like it?” I ask, gesturing around the house.
“Are you serious?” she asks with a disbelieving smile. “It’s…” she starts, turning a circle, eyes wide taking it all in. “It’s impossible,” she finally says, then looks at me. “And the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I smile a true, generous smile. I am more pleased than I should be. “With enough money, nothing’s impossible,” I say, deciding something then and there.
She doesn’t want to go back. I won’t take her back. I’ll take hell from Cassian for it but fuck it.
“Come.” I gesture to the dimly lit corridor beyond the kitchen. As we walk toward it, the lights brighten enough to guide us. Her footfalls are silent on the polished concrete.
“Is the floor heated throughout?” she asks, glancing back at me as her fingertips brush along the sometimes-jagged edges of the rock wall. Most have been shaved down but some I left natural.
“Yes. That and the fireplaces heat the space. And can’t get better insulation than this.” I say of the wall. “Although if you’re not careful…” I trail off, touching one of the sharp points.
“Why didn’t you smooth it all down? I mean, if you can build this, surely you could have done that.”
“Because it’s beautiful as is. And beauty is never without its sharp edges.” I say that last part looking directly at her.
Pink warms her cheeks and she smiles.
“Where does this lead?” she asks of the door carved into the rock.
“Pool.”
“Pool?” her eyebrows rise.
“Another impossibility,” I say with a grin. “I’ll show you in the morning.”
When we get to the end of the corridor, I reach around her to open the door. She catches her breath when she steps inside. I stand close enough that I faintly smell her shampoo, a pretty, flowery scent, clean like a fresh spring day. I find myself creepily breathing her in even as I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.
“This is your bedroom?” She glances back at me before stepping fully into the bedroom which is nearly as big as the living space with the same wall of windows and high ceilings. “This is crazy,” she says, awe and pleasure on her face. She runs her fingertips over the rock wall as she walks along. The rock of the mountain curves deeper around the bed and she stops to take note. “That’s almost cozy.” She glances at me with her eyebrows raised like she’s learned something new about me.
“Or claustrophobic,” I counter. “Depending.”
She shakes her head, faces me, eyes locked on mine. She’s unafraid to look at me, to see me, too. That’s the tradeoff. If I see her, she might see me, too. Is that what I want? Am I ready for someone to see me? To really see me.
I shift my gaze away, watching her through her reflection in the glass as if that could somehow protect me. Protect us from each other.
“No, not claustrophobic. It’s perfect,” she says softly. Her gaze meets mine in the glass like she can’t quite look at the real me when she says what she says next. “You can disappear here.”