Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Nodding, I walk to the window and look down.
Perfect. Just fantastic, it’s my mom talking to Jett. I lean closer. She looks angry as her skinny arms fly animatedly in the air.
That same guy in the suit from yesterday who picked me up from the airport is putting her bags in the trunk.
Jett laughs, then grabs the back of her neck, bringing her in for a kiss. I must let out some sort of noise because Brody’s voice makes me jump.
“Raven? What’s going on with you?” he demands, but I can’t turn away while watching my mom cling to Jett. That’s when it dawns on me: she loves him.
Or at least believes she loves him.
My hand reaches out to touch the cool glass on the window, wanting to feel him if only for a second…
“Brody? Are you coming tonight?” My voice sounds almost robotic as I watch my mother get into the car, and the man in the suit shut the door and walk around to the driver’s seat.
“I’ll try to be there around six. And, Raven?”
I drop my hand and watch Jett back up as the car pulls away.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” he says. Two days ago, I would have told him I loved him back. Two days ago, that was true.
But I’m not my mother. I don’t lie. Instead, I say, “I need you.” My voice shakes a little because I’m not sure my words are for Brody or the dark-haired man from below. As if he knows I’m watching him, he turns and looks up at me.
My heart stops, then starts to race as he robs the very breath from me. What the hell? I need to move, but I stay exactly where I am.
This time Jett Powers is not grinning. If anything, the look in his eyes makes me shiver and goose bumps appear on my arms.
Prey. He looks at me like I’m his.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“What? You’re scaring me, Raven.” Brody. Sweet Brody, having absolutely no idea what’s happening to me. I swallow and take a steadying breath while I stare down at the man I need to stay away from.
He’s not good. But, then again, maybe I’m not good either. It’s almost as if I can feel him, like he’s calling to me.
Wow. I’m losing it. Maybe I should ask Brody if I can stay with him? That’s what I’ll do. After we finally have sex, I’ll ask him to get us a hotel room for a couple of days. He’s loaded. His dad is a TV executive, for God’s sake.
“Raven? Talk to me.” His voice is shaky, and he sounds scared.
“Sorry, I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight.” I lower the phone and continue staring down at him.
Look away, Raven. Look away. My heart is pounding so fast I can feel it in my temples. But it’s not me who breaks our stare; it’s him. He turns, his gray suit accenting his broad shoulders, and walks away from my view.
I don’t move, just keep looking out the window as I try to rationalize it all.
Because I’m in crisis mode right now, and if I’m not careful, I’ll go over. I breathe deeply and take a step back. Exhaling, I lift my phone again.
Cher.
I’ll call her, tell her everything. Confess all my sordid thoughts, get them out so they’re free and then they can’t hurt me.
But I don’t.
For as long as I live, I’ll never understand why I toss my phone on the bed and walk into the bathroom pulling my T-shirt off.
Maybe it’s because he’s forbidden and that excites me.
Or maybe it’s because everything about this is wrong and dangerous, and for some reason, I like that.
Yeah, I’m not calling Cher.
I’m not calling or confessing anything.
RAVEN
I’m pacing in my new Chanel ankle boots, an impulse buy right before I left New York. I know you’re technically not supposed to wear boots in the summer, but these are white leather with a jeweled C and circles, and I need to look fantastic tonight.
I look at my phone. Seven p.m. “Where is he?” I’ve literally spent the day getting ready for this. I feel like a bride in the 1700s waiting for my new husband to deflower me.
Ridiculous.
I sit down on the edge of the long white couch, then jump up as I hear the beep alerting me that someone is at the gate.
“Finally. Okay, calm, you’re calm,” I tell myself, then look around the room for cameras. Thankfully, I don’t see any. That would be the icing on the cake since I’ve been pacing and pretty much acting like a crazy person for hours.
I push on the button. “Yes?”
“It’s me. I’m sorry, traffic was bad, and I got los—” I beep him in, cutting him off, not caring for his stupid excuses as to why he’s an hour late.