Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Inside this mansion is food and warmth. More than I could ever give him.
Go.
I turn to leave—but I whirl back around with a gasp when the ten-foot-high door flies open and there, outlined in the glow from within, is Sebastian Spears.
Immediately, I’m flooded with alarm.
Has he…changed?
My memory of the charming, compassionate man in his early twenties doesn’t align with this…scowling lord of the manor. He’s tall and handsome—that fact remains the same. With his unruly black hair, fit form and shaded jaw, he’s nothing short of arresting. A fine specimen is how some of the women in town once referred to him. Back when he came into town to do his grocery shopping and banking. Now an elderly man named Dobbs runs his errands for him.
Yes, Sebastian Spears is definitely…attractive.
And that’s when it happens.
That terrible/wonderful feeling in my belly. The one that signals destruction.
Willing destruction.
The place between my legs, untouched by anyone but me, begins that wet throb. The slow draw of muscles and tingling of private flesh is even more potent than usual—and that’s saying something. Is the wild streak inside of me expanding? Am I going to be completely unredeemable soon? If so, it’s just another reason to leave my brother where he’ll be safe.
Away from me.
As if it can keep my unruly nature contained, I pull my coat tight, tight, all the way up my chin, hiding as much skin as possible so Mr. Spears can’t see that I’ve become flushed in his presence. Normally the dreadful throbbing between my legs comes from idleness. Being left to my own devices for too long.
This is different. His sheer masculinity is causing the ache this time.
None of the men in town have inspired this twisting ripple in my belly. Not ever. Not even close. It’s only when I look at Mr. Spears do I think inexcusable thoughts. Such as…
Would I be able to breathe with him on top of me?
What would his hands feel like on my knees, the insides of my thighs, while pushing them open?
How much hair does he have on his big chest? Surrounding his sex?
God. It’s humiliating.
“How did you get past the walls?” Mr. Spears drawls, though there is an underlying sharpness to his question. “They are built to keep trespassers out.”
The way he bites off the final word makes me gulp. “Would you believe someone left the gate open?”
“No. I would not. Apparently the locks need to be reinforced.” A muscle snaps in his cheek. “Is that a child?”
I’m having a hard time concentrating with that voice occupying the air around me, rasping like velvet in my ears. It’s so deep, it seems to reverberate in my womb. “Yes,” I whisper, going down on my knees into the begging position. I’m very familiar with it. So much so that there are holes in every pair of pants I own. “Please, sir, I can’t take care of him. There is no money to eat a-and we are going to be evicted any day—”
“You expect me to take care of your child?”
I don’t bother correcting him. Curtis is my younger brother—a late-in-life accident for my mother, a year before her death. Because as far as I’m concerned, he is mine. He’s all I’ve got. “I’m asking you kindly to look after him until I can secure better employment and a safer place to live. The well in Harding has run dry. This is my only option.” I chew on my lip a moment, praying Curtis remains asleep. If the two-year-old woke up, he would never allow me to leave without him. “I explain it all in the note.”
“Ah, there’s a note,” he says with dull sarcasm, no trace of the sparkle I remember in his eyes. No, they’re hollow and haunted. He keeps them trained on me as he stoops down and retrieves my handwritten letter. Instead of reading it, however, he rips it cleanly down the middle and lets the halves soar away in the wind. “I’m not a babysitting service, girl. The answer is no. If I took in every unlucky brat from Harding, my home would overflow.”
The people in town were right.
He is horribly bitter now. What happened to him?
Where is the man who wiped my tears away with his thumb and promised not to tell my mother that I played too close to the edge of his cliff? Back then, he was new in town. The mysterious young man who inherited Rosewood Mansion. And I thought I’d solved him. He’s kindhearted and understanding, just a little misunderstood.
Oh dear, was I ever wrong.
He doesn’t even recognize me. Our connection was just a figment of my imagination.
And yet. Despite his callousness…
That heat he generates on every inch of my skin only gets…hotter. There is a confusing part of me that seems to almost…like his meanness. That makes no sense. Why would a man being intentionally cruel stir my belly like a cauldron? There’s a throb at the juncture of my thighs that has never been there before. No. No, this shameful wish for hedonism that lurks inside of me has to remain contained. With that thought in mind, I pull my coat all the tighter, lifting my chin. Trying to rise above the pull for rebellion. I’m a proper young lady, even if I was forced to steal this coat from an unlocked car on our way out of town. It was that or freeze.