Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I know it’s him out there. I mean, I don’t have proof—but nobody else comes to my cottage after hours. Only Kellen would bother, and I can’t help but reflect on how much worse my life’s going to be with him around.
Somehow worse than it was when his father was alive.
But he doesn’t go away and eventually I pull it open. “What do you want?”
He holds up a bottle of wine. “Truce.”
“I’m not interested.” I go to close the door, but he doesn’t let me.
“That wasn’t a request.” He barges into my cottage, pushing past me and into the little living room.
“What the hell is your problem?”
But he laughs as he looks around. “Holy shit, Tara. This place is a wreck.”
My cheeks turn red with anger and embarrassment. “It’s just cluttered.” I glance at the clothes and shoes piled in a corner, at the dishes in the sink, at the crafting junk I have scattered on the couches from when I got really into crocheting. I could probably put it all away, but why bother? It’s my mess and nobody else ever comes in here. Until now.
“Cluttered? This is full-on hoarder territory.”
“No, it’s not, asshole.”
“Seriously, I knew you were a little messy, but this?”
“Get out.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll stop.” He’s giving me that infuriating grin as he walks into my kitchen and starts rifling through the drawers. “What do you do with yourself in this place anyway? You don’t have a car that I know about and the city is about a half-hour away. You’re sort of stuck in this little house all the time.”
I clench my jaw. “Thank you for reminding me.”
“Aren’t you bored?”
“I like my job.”
“You like cutting my dad’s grass?”
“Your dad’s dead and I don’t mow the lawn. I’m the gardener.” I hesitate and cross my arms. “Okay, mowing and watering the grass is one part of my job, but there’s more to it than that.”
“Right.” He pulls a wine opener from a drawer with a triumphant smile, opens the bottle, and pours two glasses. “Come on, have a drink. You need to loosen up.”
“If you go away, I’ll happily unwind. I’m not drinking with you.”
“What else were you doing? Sitting around contemplating your spinsterhood?” He holds the glasses up, grinning. “Come on, Tara. Drink with me.”
“Kellen.”
“Right, sorry, you plan on masturbating to extremely kinky online porn and can’t wait to rush me out.”
“Kellen!”
“I’ll gladly stay and watch if that’s what you’re into. As much as I hate you, time has been very kind.” His eyebrows raise and I’m distantly aware of my very short shorts and tight tank top. I cross my arms over my chest to cover my breasts.
I turn pink again and want to kick him square in the testicles a few times. Maybe he’ll even let me if I say that’s my kink.
“I was reading, okay? And I plan on going back to reading when you’re gone. Then I was going to cook dinner and go to bed early so I can get up when it’s still a reasonable temperature outside and get some work done.”
“Exciting.” He tilts one of the glasses from side to side, swirling the wine. “Have a drink.”
I sigh and rub my temples. He’s not going anywhere and there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I can scream and fight all I want but Kellen Hayle does whatever he chooses whenever he chooses and the rest of us mere mortals have to accept it.
“One drink and then you’re gone.” I point at the door. “Understood?”
“Deal.”
I accept the glass and consider chugging it down, but that’ll only make me a little tipsy and I don’t want to lose any of my faculties right now, not with Kellen looking at me like he’s not sure if he wants to smash me in the face with a hammer or if he wants to rip my clothes off and ravish my body.
It’s extremely confusing because I’m not sure which I want either.
I turn away and sit at the table. He lingers, sipping his wine, leaning against my counter.
“I spoke with the family lawyer today,” he says quietly and I’m guessing that’s the reason he decided to visit me.
“Learn anything interesting?”
“A few things, but one in particular stood out. Did you know that my father left me a trust?”
I laugh, unable to help it. “Right, yeah, of course he did. You run away from the family for years, build up your own little crime empire, terrorize people, get your hands nice and bloody, but you’re still the spoiled oldest son.”
His expression darkens and he walks over, sauntering slowly. He sits down in the chair next to mine, getting closer than necessary, his knees touching my thigh.
“I was never spoiled by that man.”
I snort once. “Come on, I remember how things were—”
“They gave me things. They forced me into opportunities. But everything came with a cost.” His voice is low now. He pulls up the sleeve of his black Henley and shows me a mottled mass of scar tissue barely covered by a lotus flower tattoo. I shiver slightly at how achingly familiar those scars are and at the sudden nearness of him. I didn’t expect this level of vulnerability, and now that he’s showing it, I almost wish he’d stop. “Cigarette burns. My father particularly liked this this form of punishment. And the sick part is, he didn’t even smoke, he’d just light them, watch it burn, then put it out on my skin. Over and over again until I screamed. Don’t tell me I’m fucking spoiled.”