Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
In a life that seemed otherwise dreary.
She wasn’t even going to worry about how this was happening or why. She hadn’t asked those questions about Bruce, when all along she’d been unsure whether she had any true feelings for him.
So why the hell would she ask it now when this felt so right?
Putting her hand lightly on Darius’s face, she let herself get lost in his hungry stare. “You’re not a rebound. In fact, I feel like… you’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
His smile was less an expression, more a glow from the soul. “Anne—”
At first, the sound that interrupted the urgent whisper of her name was so quiet, she couldn’t place what it was. But as Darius’s head wrenched around to the door, she realized the rhythmic beat was someone coming down the stone steps. Fast. And the footfalls were heavy, so it was definitely not the butler with dinner.
Before she could say something, the oak panels were shoved open without a knock or a hello—and even though she was prepared to not see the ancient butler in his formal black-and-white uniform… she was most certainly not ready for what stood in between the jambs.
The vicious-looking man was dressed in black leather from head to toe, and she knew without seeing what was under his jacket that he was armed. Seriously armed. But whatever weapons he was carrying on his body were not what scared her.
His icy pale eyes were the stuff of nightmares, cunning and cruel… utterly ruthless as they took in Darius and her, together on the bed.
Were those tattoos on his temple?
“Don’t you knock,” Darius said in a nasty tone of voice.
As he moved to shield her with his torso, he sounded like a totally different person. Looked like one, too, his brows drawn down over a stare that was outright aggressive.
Anne had to tilt to the side to look around his thick biceps.
The other man took out what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette and put it between gleaming white teeth. “Didn’t know I needed an engraved invitation to come down here.” A gold lighter spit out a little flame, and after he used it and clipped the top shut, he resumed speaking on the exhale. “Then again, you’re not the type to be caught in flagrante delicto. At least not in the past.”
Only one of his hands was gloved. In black leather, of course. The guy probably thought cotton or wool was too effeminate—heck, maybe chain mail was too girlie for him.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” Darius said tightly.
“Not going to introduce me?”
“No, I’m not. Now get the hell out of here.”
The black-haired man pointed behind himself with the cigarette. “Across the hall. I’ll be waiting.”
As the door to the room was closed with a smacking sound, Darius shut his eyes briefly. Then he sat up. Staring across at the heavy oak panels, he seemed to age before her very eyes, years multiplying until they were decades. Centuries.
Until his shoulders dropped, and his brows drew together out of exhaustion.
“I’m so sorry,” he said remotely.
“Who is he?”
“Same night.” He shook his head. “The same damn night.”
“What?”
“V hasn’t been here in how long?” Darius rubbed the back of his neck like he needed a chiropractor. “And he shows up on the one night you’re here.”
“Do you work with him?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Darius glanced over. “I’ll go get rid of him.”
“Okay, but I can leave if you have something you need to—”
“Please. Stay.”
Anne repositioned herself against the pillows, plumping one up to support her head. “All right.”
The tension in his shoulders eased. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
Darius nodded, as if they’d struck some kind of deal. And then he marched out of the bedroom with such a stride, she almost felt badly for the man in black leather.
As the door was re-shut, she crossed her legs at the ankles and stared down the bed with its red-and-black satin duvet. Reaching out for the hors d’oeuvres, she helped herself to another pig in a blanket.
It was lukewarm.
And now tasted like cardboard.
But that was less about the food and its temperature… and more about whatever was happening across the hall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darius hit the door to his bedchamber like it was an opponent, punching at the heavy weight before marching into his private quarters.
Over at his desk, Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, had taken a seat and was leaning back in the carved chair, his boots propped up on the blotter, a Cartier ashtray balanced on his abs.
“Surprise, surprise,” the brother drawled after a puff of Turkish tobacco. “Interrupting you on a date.”
“Fuck you,” Darius said as he shut them in together.
The brow by the tattooed temple lifted, those diamond eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “I don’t think I’m the one you want to screw. But you know me, I’m up for anything.”