Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Not listening, a glare quickly forms on my face, and I mutter, “I can do it myself. I don’t need your help.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and he gives me a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Tilt your head back, Grace!”
I’ve never heard that tone before, but it makes intense fear shudder through me, and I feel like a lamb that’s about to be slaughtered.
When I don’t do as I’m told, he steps right up to me, grips a fistful of my hair, and lightly tugs at the strands, silently telling me to tilt my head back or he’ll force me.
I feel vulnerable as I reluctantly carry out his order, and even though I blink like crazy, he manages to get a few drops into each of my eyes. The liquid is soothing, and I can’t keep myself from closing my eyes while the burn and scratchy sensation eases.
“Dobré dievča,” he murmurs, his deep voice sounding so intimate my eyes pop open, and I quickly pull away from him.
I use my hand to wipe the stray drops from my face and rush to the counter where I left the pancake mixture.
As I pick up the bowl and whisk and begin to beat the crap out of the batter, I ask, “What do the words mean?”
I hear him move closer, and only when he leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest does he answer, “Good girl.”
Unlike yesterday, Dominik isn’t wearing a suit jacket today, and the sleeves of his black dress shirt are rolled up to beneath his elbows. A gun is strapped to his chest, and most of his skin on his forearms are covered with tattoos. It looks like a skeleton has been inked all over his skin, with flowers and guns worked into the design.
It's both beautiful and menacing.
My eyes lift to his neck, and with the top three buttons of his shirt undone, I can see an angel with spread wings tattooed across the crook of his neck.
When my gaze lifts higher, our eyes connect and heat flushes my cheeks. I quickly look at the bowl.
A moment of silence passes, filled only by the sound of the whisk hitting the bowl, then he asks, “Do you like cooking and baking?”
“None of your business,” I mutter.
“Fine,” he chuckles. “Can Ciara cook?”
My eyes flick to his face, and I glare at him. Not willing to tell him anything about Ciara, I reply, “I like it.”
“Hmm.” The sound rumbles from his chest, making more heat flare in my cheeks.
I ignore the attraction and my body’s reaction to the unnerving man and move to the stove. I drizzle oil into a pan and wait for it to warm before I pour some of the pancake mix in.
While I wait for the bubbles to appear in the batter, I’m overly aware of Dominik staring at me.
“Take a photo. It will last longer,” I mutter.
“I prefer the real thing.”
Ciara comes into the kitchen, and not seeing Dominik, she sighs, “It feels like I’m walking around on eggshells. Do you think we could talk to Dad again?”
I gesture with my eyes in Dominik’s direction, and the moment she notices him, she turns around and hightails it out of the kitchen.
My gaze flicks back to Dominik, and it’s in time to see his eyes narrow on the doorway while looking annoyed.
When he becomes aware I’m staring at him, he says, “It’s difficult to believe you’re sisters.”
My tone is brisk as I ask, “Why’s that?”
“She’s nothing like you. A breeze can probably knock her on her ass.”
“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” I snap, then I smell something burning and exclaim, “Shit!”
I quickly remove the pan from the open flame, and after turning off the heat, I grab a spatula. While I try to scrape the burned pancake off so I can throw it away, the spatula slips and my palm connects with the hot pan.
I hiss when my skin burns and drop everything on the floor, where it clatters loudly.
Before I can even process that I just burned myself, Dominik grabs hold of my right wrist and yanks me toward the sink, sticking my palm beneath the cold water faucet.
His tone is tense and sounds downright angry when he orders, “Boha vyjebaneho! You need to be more careful.”
My eyes dart between his strong fingers wrapped around my wrist and his face. As I watch him inspect my palm, lightly blowing on the red area, I’m stunned out of my everloving mind.
First, he helped me with the eye drops, and now he looks angry because I got hurt?
He blows on the tender spot again, and as his thumb brushes over my wrist as if to soothe me, his eyes flick to mine.
The air tenses between us, and my heartbeat breaks out into a crazy pitter-patter against my ribs.