Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Now he was feeling sorry for himself. He had good reason. But it didn’t help him. Not one bit.
“No. You told me to call you Lucian.”
“Because I was hiding,” he bit out. “So you wouldn’t know what a damn wreck I am.”
“You are not a wreck.”
If anything, he got more agitated, his skin darkening with displeasure and frustration. “Do not pity me.”
“Don’t you yell at me,” I snapped back. “I’ll pity you all I want.”
“What?” He gaped in outrage. “You actually admit that you feel sorry for me?”
We were nearly nose to nose, both of us shouting like children. Didn’t stop me, though. “Why not, when you’re acting pitiful, stalking off to sulk, or lashing out at anyone who dares to care?”
An irate growl escaped him, like he just might blow. With a jerky, harsh movement, he raised his hand. And that was when it happened. I flinched. Violently.
We both froze.
I took in the entire scene with an acute awareness that bordered on painful. The move horrified me because I didn’t want that to be my first instinct when a man raised his hand. But it was there all the same, hanging in the air like a neon sign. Worse in hindsight, because I could clearly see by the angle of his arm—now frozen in shock—that he had been about to run his hand through his hair in frustration.
He’d seen my reaction. There was no escaping that.
He finally broke the taut silence. “You thought I was going to hit you.”
Not a question. We both knew it.
I hated that I’d flinched, that I was ashamed of my reaction. I hated that a vital piece of me had been altered. It was another thing taken from me without my permission. But I couldn’t change it; I had flinched, and now I had to own it.
I lifted my chin, because I was also not going to apologize. “You’re a big guy who’s in my face arguing with me. And you’re right—I don’t know you from Adam. So yes, I’m going to be wary.”
When Lucian spoke, his voice was soft and carefully modulated.
“If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll stay out of your way for the rest of your visit. Regardless, I want you to feel safe, so can I explain something?”
When I nodded, he continued.
“I’ve been in a lot of fights. On the ice. And once off it. But all of them were against guys who could hold their own. This scar”—he pointed to a faint line under his left brow—“was from a left hook I didn’t see coming. I returned the favor and broke the guy’s nose. I’m telling you this because I won’t lie and say I’m a stranger to violence.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate to meet my eyes. “But you? You could slap me, punch me, kick me in the nuts, call me names, disparage Mamie, whom I love more than anyone on Earth, and I still wouldn’t ever raise a hand to you. Because I don’t hit women or anyone weaker than me. Ever.”
He stopped there, his concerned gaze darting over my face. “I apologize that my behavior made you feel unsafe. It wasn’t my intention. If you believe anything about me, believe I will always be the guy who stands with you, never against you.”
As if that settled everything, he moved to go.
“I wouldn’t do those things,” I said. When he quirked a brow in confusion, I clarified. “I wouldn’t hit you or disparage Amalie. I’m not abusive either.”
His expression turned baffled, as though he didn’t know what to make of me. “Okay.” That was it.
But then he paused, as if something else occurred to him. “Just so we’re clear, if you do hurt Mamie or try to take advantage of her, I won’t hit, but I will escort your butt off this property for good.”
Then he gave me his back once more and stalked off.
“Jerk,” I snapped.
“I heard that,” he called, still walking.
“Good,” I cried back, lifting my voice so he’d hear me loud and clear. “Because I never said I wouldn’t call you names.”
His snort was the only reply. He was almost out of sight, about to take the stairs that led to the beach.
“Lucian!”
I hadn’t expected him to stop, but he did.
“I’m sorry too,” I said to the stiff wall of his back. “For saying you were acting pitiful.”
He didn’t move, but I knew he was listening keenly.
“You’re not. I don’t pity you. You just piss me off.”
I couldn’t hear him, but I saw the way his chin ducked down, his head angled slightly to the side, and I knew he’d snorted. In humor or annoyance was another question altogether. “Good to know, Snoopy.”
This time, I was the one who turned around and walked away. It didn’t feel good, precisely, but was a slight victory nonetheless.