Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
As the woman retreated, Erin said, “I’m really not hungry, Max. I just want an opportunity to talk—”
His eyes glittered with warning. “You’ll eat.”
Erin was about to argue the point when she thought better of it and snapped her lips closed in a mutinous line. She would undoubtedly need to keep her strength up for whatever was to come. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Had she become nothing more than the stereotypical Victorian heroine from a Gothic novel?
With a somber expression, Max led her by the elbow, ushering her down a corridor and through an arched doorway that opened into a large atrium. Erin stopped, sucked in a breath and looked around. A wall of windows let in bright sunlight and the view beyond was breathtaking in its simplicity. Outside, an abundance of rolling hills of verdant greens and browns met the eye. The room itself was casually decorated, but Erin knew immediately that she was looking at turn-of-the-century, antique rattan furniture—not something that could easily be replaced from a department store—she knew because she’d searched for furniture like this both online and in stores.
Max’s hold on her was firm, and Erin glanced down at the band of steel his fingers made around her arm. She gave him a pointed, questioning look and he returned it momentarily, staring at her with such magnetic force that it made breathing difficult. Finally, he released her and Erin immediately took the opportunity to wander over to the windows and look out.
As she stood and tried to assimilate her new circumstances, she turned at the sound of a trolley being wheeled in. A maid of Hispanic heritage pushed the cart next to a bistro set in a corner of the room, and after a few minor adjustments to the service, the young woman made a hasty bob of her head before exiting the room.
Max indicated the table and chairs with a flourish of the hand, and simultaneously, Erin felt a wave of weakness precipitated by hunger that unfortunately, wasn’t accompanied by any sign of appetite. But knowing she needed to eat, and also realizing that she wouldn’t get any answers from him until she’d done his bidding, she walked across the room, pretending she was in total control of the situation and seated herself.
She lifted the glass of cucumber water, took a sip, glanced at him and waited.
“I ate on the plane while you were sleeping,” he announced as he strolled to the windows where he looked out as he waited for her to begin eating.
At that, Erin picked up the fork and took a bite of the chicken salad with grapes and nuts, which happened to be a favorite of hers. The salad was served on a bed of spinach, and after the third bite, thankfully, her appetite made an appearance, allowing her to eat at least three-quarters of the meal.
Finishing the water, she stood to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at Max.
At this point, he was lounging on the couch, and at her look, he indicated the seat next to him. Erin took the few steps to his side and sat.
When he remained infuriatingly silent, she fumed inwardly. “Well?”
He raised a mocking eyebrow and began slowly, as if perturbed to be having the conversation at all. “What do you want to know, love?” he asked on a resigned sigh.
That particular endearment, accompanied by the sigh, irritated the shit out of her. “Why do you call me love? I’m not your love—far from it.”
In an instant, he reached out and clamped his hand on her thigh while his eyes blazed into hers with a look of impatience. “You’re my wife,” he answered, steel suddenly ringing in his tone.
She sucked in a startled breath as his gaze devoured her, running over her face and throat, before dropping to her breasts. He lifted his eyes back to hers and while he stared at her with a look of command, his hand left her thigh to trail across her trembling fingers, landing on the obscene gold band on her ring finger. As he pressed the band into her skin, any hint of languidness abruptly disappeared from his manner. Although her heartbeat was going crazy, she jerked her fingers from his hold and began removing the ring. “I’m not your wife.”
Retaliation came quickly. Clamping down on her fingers to keep the band in place, he stared at her with a look that reprimanded. She took three deep breaths, trying to get her anger under control and rebelliously sealed her lips together. When she remained unmoving, he released her and spread his fingers through her hair with a restraining grasp and stared silently at her before biting back, “You are my wife—don’t think you’re not—I have the license to prove you belong to me.”