Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Arthur stood taller. “Cleo Price.”
My heart winged at the possession in his tone.
The butler looked at the guard who shifted on his toes and peered intensely behind smoky lenses. A clipboard magically materialized in his hands. After a quick glance, he nodded curtly.
I guess I’m approved.
The butler sidestepped into the grand entrance, beckoning us inside. “Please, come in.”
I mumbled thanks as Arthur and I stepped into the extravagant foyer and feasted on the oversized modern artwork and the three-meter-high driftwood horse dominating the space.
“Do you have any jackets or coats you wish me to take?” the butler asked.
Arthur shook his head. “We’re good. Thanks.” His height gave him an advantage, easily browsing over the milling guests in distinguished suits and bright dresses. The men were punctuations to their pretty wives decorating the space like sugary confectionary.
“Mr. Samson is awaiting your arrival.” The butler pointed across the room where a punch bowl and delicate sandwiches rested on side tables. “He requested you speak to him first.”
Arthur stole my hand. “Will do.”
Leaving the butler in our wake, we weaved our way through the crowd. Bubbles of perfume and clouds of aftershave popped and swarmed as we brushed past men and women who would never step foot inside a biker compound, let alone mingle with one.
Squeezing Arthur’s fingers, I asked, “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
He looked down, his face cordial and cocky. “Soon.”
Happiness filled me to think he might be on the mend, but then I stared harder and saw past his walls. Whatever headache he suffered, it hadn’t dispersed yet. It was there with its fingers of agony and heartbeats of pressure.
A waitress appeared with champagne flutes. “Drink?”
I raised my hand to say no, but Arthur released me and plucked two sparkling glasses from her silver tray. “Thank you.”
She nodded, cast an appreciative glance at Arthur, then glided away to provide liquor to other parched individuals.
I scowled. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”
His eyebrow rose. “Uh, I’d thought about it, yes.” Offering a flute to me, he added, “And you, too. Unless you’ve stopped drinking after being spoiled by Melanie’s concoctions last night?”
I took the glass, rubbing my thumb through the icy condensation. “No, I’ll sip one. I just don’t think it’s a good idea that you do.”
He scoffed, deliberately taking a swig. Somehow, he made sipping golden champagne from a dainty glass rough and tough and utterly masculine.
My throat turned dry.
Licking his lips, his eyes shot to a forest green. Desire sparked, lacing around us and shunning everyone else in the room. The unfinished business in the limo only grew more intense. “You were saying.”
All I could focus on was a glistening drop on his bottom lip. “I was saying?”
Taking a step toward me, Arthur twirled the ribbon from my braid, gracing my décolletage with his knuckles.
I shivered.
“You were saying I shouldn’t drink. If your concern is because of my head, I told you—stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”
I twirled the stem of my flute. “I’m worried that you aren’t taking this seriously. Alcohol can’t be good for your condition.”
His shoulders braced. “I drank last night and it didn’t bother you.”
“That was different.”
“How was it different?”
My knees wobbled beneath his scrutiny. “We were surrounded by people who care about you. Plus, you only had two beers all evening. I watched you.”
He scowled. “Can’t get anything by you, can I?”
“Nope.” I swallowed hard. “You’re still in pain. I can tell.”
His jaw clenched but he forced himself to relax. “It’s nothing, Buttercup.” Kissing me swiftly, he whispered, “Forget about what happened. Forget about what’s about to happen. And let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”
I nodded but I didn’t agree. How could I forget about what’d happened when his father had started this mess? How could I forget when it was all I thought about?
For the first time, I let my thoughts slip through my iron control.
My worry wasn’t just about his concussion. Or his pigheaded belief he could extract revenge without being hurt. It wasn’t even about him living a life still shackled so heavily to the past.
It’s because I’m worried he’ll die. That he’ll arrange a war and perish because of it.
I threw a mouthful of chilled wine down my throat. I hated worrying. I hated not knowing. I’d lived for far too long not knowing and I wouldn’t do it any longer. Arthur was mine—therefore he was my responsibility and I would be damned if I let him get hurt again.
“We could just leave …,” I whispered, twirling the stem of my glass.
Arthur froze. “You want to go home?”
Home. Where was home? Dagger Rose was gone. Pure Corruption was still too new. We can start a new home.
Looking into his eyes, I begged him to understand. “We could go somewhere, just us. We’re together again. We always said we were each other’s home.” Urgency filled me. I grabbed his wrist, sloshing his champagne. “We could just go. Move overseas. Start again.”