Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
"You didn't see or hear anything?"
"Nope. Nothing at all."
I eye her for a long moment, trying to decide if she's telling me the truth or not. Part of me thinks she is actually being honest right now—she didn't see or hear anything. But I get the sense that isn't the full truth. Just because she didn't see something doesn't mean she doesn't know something. And judging by the way she studiously avoids looking at me, she knows a whole helluva lot more than she's saying.
But she's not in a talking mood right now. And the distrust is written all over her face. I could probably drop to my knees and beg, and it wouldn't do me a goddamn bit of good right now. She's scared of something. The men who were lurking around?
"Do you know anything about two men lurking around outside your father's place, Red? Tall, dark hair, one with a goatee?"
She startles on the bed ever so slightly, fear blazing in her eyes before she blinks it away. "N-no. Why?"
"No reason," I lie, quickly deciding not to push for more. I got what I needed. Whoever the fuck they are, they're definitely involved somehow. Is she protecting them? Afraid of them? I'm not entirely sure, but I intend to find out. Just…not right now.
She needs rest more than she needs me hounding her. And despite what she thinks, I didn't come here to grill her. I came because I couldn't fucking stay away. I needed to see for myself that she was okay.
"Thanks for your help," I murmur. "But that's enough with the questions. Let me get you home."
"Why?"
"Because you've been here all night, and you clearly aren't happy about it. You'll rest better in my bed."
She narrows her eyes at me, startling again.
"Shit. I meant your bed."
That's a bald-faced dirty lie. I definitely meant my bed. I just didn't intend to say it out loud.
"I'm not sleeping with you, Emmett."
"Of course you aren't," I lie. She's absolutely sleeping with me. Just not yet. She needs rest. And I need to find out what she knows first. I don't want her thinking she's in my bed because I need information, and I have a feeling that's precisely what she'll think if I do this in the wrong order. She's…prickly for some reason. Because she's obviously hiding something? Maybe. Probably.
But I think there may be a little bit more to it than that. I'm guessing she's always been the one calling the shots, always been the only one she could depend on. She's prickly because prickly survives. Like a fucking porcupine. Their quills and barbs keep them alive in a world full of predators.
I'm guessing she's dealt with a few too many of those in her life.
She was sweet as hell back in the fire. I'm guessing that's who she really is underneath this prickly attitude. But she's had all night to convince herself that she can't trust me. All night to build walls and try to shore up her defenses. I'm a motherfucker who likes a challenge. And knocking down those walls and slipping beneath her defenses is appealing on levels I can't even begin to explain.
I want her to make me work for her trust because I want her to know I'm the kind of guy willing to do it. If I want her to trust me with her secrets, she needs to know I'm not just another asshole. Fucking her raw and then asking for answers will not get me where I want to go with her. Slow and steady.
Do not fuck this up, I order myself. Or my dick. I'm not entirely sure which of us I'm coaching here. But at least one of us needs to play nice or neither of us is getting the girl. And Dillon—damn him—was right. This is personal.
"How about we get you home to your brother?" I suggest. "He's probably worried sick about you. I would be if you were my sister. I mean…I'm glad you aren't my sister." I grimace when her brows lift. "I mean, I'm glad you aren't my sister because it'd be fucking weird to think you were hot if you were my sister."
"You should probably stop talking now," she says sweetly.
She's right. She's absolutely fucking right. But do I listen? Fuck no.
"What I mean is that I do want to fuck you." Jesus H. Christ. My dick is currently operating my mouth. And the bastard is trying to ensure we never get to experience heaven.
She stares at me with wide eyes.
"Fucking hell," I growl, tugging at the roots of my hair. "What I mean is that I am ungodly attracted to you. I do want to fu…uh, sleep with you. But I'm not going to do it."
Something floats through her expression, but I'm not entirely sure if it's relief or regret. And I don't get a chance to find out before my goddamn dick decides he isn't finished ruining my life.