Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
“Okay.” He bent his knees and loosed his grip on her thighs, allowing her to slide down carefully.
“Thank you,” she said with a wobbly smile, when he turned around to face her again. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown, her beautiful pink lips were parted, as she panted slightly. His eyes lingered on that succulent top lip before drifting south and snagging on the hard points of her nipples.
Fuck, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was turned on. But that couldn’t be it. It was hot and she was unwell, which would account of the high color and breathlessness.
As for the nipples, well slipping down his back must have created… friction.
He swallowed, trying to alleviate the dryness in his throat as he considered the concept of friction. Parts sliding against one another, generating heat, tension, sensation…
His eyes drifted even further down as he—for the first time—considered how the rub of her sweet little pussy against his back must have affected her. Did she—
No.
Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?
He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thought from his brain and took hold of her hand.
He needed to get home, where she could go back to being an easily ignored, pale little ghost.
“I have to get ready for my meeting,” Cade’s voice was a low growl.
He’d held her hand all the way up to their building, which had been unexpected. He’d also been solicitous—while selfish with his words—and careful to maintain a slower pace, even when Fern had insisted she was fine. But the second they’d stepped into the lobby of the apartment building; he’d let go of her hand. Simply dropped it like it was the hottest of potatoes and strode ahead of her to the elevator.
They hadn’t spoken for the duration of the short ride up to the penthouse, the silence between them simmering with even more tension than Fern was used to from him.
And now—after delivering his curt, growly statement, he strode toward his room, once again leaving her standing at the front door.
“Well, this feels familiar,” she muttered to herself with an amused snort.
She was tired, the few hours’ sleep she’d had last night had in no way been enough. She decided she’d take a shower and have a nap, maybe he’d be in a better mood after his call.
After a long, satisfying shower, Fern curled up on the bed in just a pair of panties and a T-shirt and reached for her phone. She chewed on her lip as she considered the wisdom of switching it back on. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the world yet, and deal with the consequences of her impetuous, desperate act.
Also depressing was the fact that she had no one to call, no one in whom to confide. The friend who’d once tried to help her escape from Granger was long gone. Scared off by the awful consequences of that act of kindness. Fern was alone in the world, with no one who cared about her welfare. The only people who currently gave a damn about where she was, were the ones who meant to do her harm.
She stared at the generic wallpaper on her lock screen, and with a few swipes and presses took her phone off do not disturb mode.
The notification alerts immediately started going off, beeps for WhatsApp, pings for texts, buzzes for email… she had no other social media accounts, having no friends to follow or engage with.
She ignored all the notifications and instead opened up her internet browser and searched for her name and sucked in her breath in shock at the number of articles that popped up mere seconds later.
Well, Cade hadn’t lied, the cat truly was out of the bag. So many articles, some of them alluding to a whirlwind romance and a hasty elopement, others dwelling on what the union would mean for the Hawthorne business, other more salacious gossip rags digging into Fern’s background describing her as practically a nun who’d been all but raised in a convent.
A convent… Fern rolled her eyes. Her school had been far from a convent. The staff had been comprised of mostly secular teachers, peppered with a few nuns, religious sisters, and only one priest.
Most of the articles featured an image of Cade in a tuxedo, unsmiling and formidably handsome as he glowered directly into the lens of whichever photographer had captured the image.
The picture of Fern was less flattering, taken at some event or the other that her stepfather had likely insisted she attend. Her hair was up in a tight, high bun, she looked washed out without a smidge of make-up in sight and—worse—she was wearing a severe gray blouse and black skirt combination that made her look very much like the nun they hinted she’d been on the verge of becoming before being “swept off her feet” by Cade.