Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Something feels different today, maybe it’s because I actually had a good night’s sleep, or maybe it’s Cyrus but he’s acting really nice then foreboding right after that, like I should go with him but not believe a word that comes out of his mouth. Where is this paranoia coming from?
I frown and make my way into the bar, adrenaline still coursing through me over those giant hands sounding like thunder in front of my face. I half expected lightning to follow.
I can’t complain about him, but my nerves are always on edge when I’m around him and it’s not just because he’s a stranger. It’s the way he speaks, I think. Half the time his smile is predatory then it’s suddenly replaced with a gorgeous seductive one that makes me instantly warm.
After last night, I’m careful not to lock eyes with him for too long but the temptation is weirdly strong. I shake my thoughts away—again, even with a good sleep, I’m still clearly imagining things, I know that has to be part of it and I need to get ready for breakfast.
I’m not really paying attention when I walk through the door and start making my way toward my room only to see the stupid cat again running in the opposite direction of where we’re supposed to go. I chase after it and suddenly get lost then find myself in the back kitchen. It must be a separate one from the one used for the restaurant which is strange. Why would they have two kitchens? Maybe because Cyrus stays at the bar a lot and wants his privacy? I have to admit it’s really large—the entire area. Oh shit is this what he was talking about? Where he actually lives when he doesn’t go home? Did I just stumble into his fortress of solitude without realizing it? Gah! Stupid naked Egyptian looking cat!
I have to admit though, something smells amazing, like fresh cinnamon rolls, burned sugar, and flowers. I walk over to the oven. The light’s on, showing off plump, golden cinnamon rolls that instantly make my mouth water.
My stomach growls.
“Someone’s hungry,” a deep voice says from behind me. I jump a foot and snatch up the closest weapon, which is sadly a towel, and hold it out in front of me. The blue and white striped thing dangles off my right hand like a broken sword.
“Cute,” the voice says again. Damn, the body belonging to said voice smells even better than the cinnamon rolls. “Cute that you think you would attack me with that and actually win. I did need a laugh today. Would you like to try a roll of paper towels instead?”
Hands shaking, I drop them by my side and slowly turn.
I immediately realize I’m not ready.
No sane person would be ready for the sort of beauty staring down at me. His eyes are a weird reddish chocolate brown, like red velvet cake, framed by long dark lashes, arched brows, full lips that look better than mine, and a dimple on his right cheek.
His hair is golden-brown with shots of auburn and hits his shoulders in a way that looks like a soft caress. He’s at least six inches taller than me, but not super large like Cyrus; he’s lean like a runner.
“Like what you see?” He winks then lifts my chin with his finger so we’re close enough to kiss. “It’s really just…tragic.”
“What is?” I whisper.
He grins. “Your death.”
Happy moment officially gone. I stumble back “I’m sorry, what?”
He bursts out laughing. “Relax, won’t you?”
How could I? He seemed serious!
He licks his lips in an agonizingly slow way like he’s tasting something, and the longer I stare into his eyes the more I wonder if it’s somehow me. “I knew I was right this time, I can’t fucking wait to rub it in his face. How is the jackass doing? Still moping around like he fell out of the sky?”
“Wh-what?”
Is this man sane? Because right now I’d even take the towel and hold it between us just as a shield.
“Cyrus. Owner of Styx. Super tall.” He holds out his hand. “Weirdly good-looking despite said tallness and inability to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when prompted. That guy.”
I’m still confused why this guy is in the kitchen. “Are you the cook?”
Please God, let him be the cook because otherwise the creepy attractive man is trespassing.
He bursts out laughing again like I’m the funniest person on the planet. “Trust me,” he turns, “never eat anything I offer you. That’s like taking the apple from the…oh shit, what is it? The Evil Queen from Snow White? Yeah, it’s like that or biting into the apple from Eve.” He tilts his head as though in deep concentration. “Honest question: why is it always an apple? Why not an orange? Life is weird. And yet always like a box of chocolates.”