Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Stop, Mallory,” Paxton calls, but I keep going. “Dammit, stop being a brat.”
That stops me short. How dare he call me that after everything? I bend down, filling my palm with a handful of mud. I stand and turn around to find Paxton up in my personal space. Without another thought, I smear the mud across his handsome face.
He blinks, and his mouth drops open.
“Did you really just do that?” His voice is low and raspy.
An ominous feeling takes over as I stare at his eyes and watch his features turn from surprise to something else. Something that screams, this is war.
“Paxton,” I say, lifting my hands and giggling nervously. “I didn’t mean to.”
He leaps forward, throwing me over his shoulder. “That wasn’t very nice,” he growls, slapping my ass.
I yelp. Not because it hurt, but because it caught me so off guard. He doesn’t sound mad, but playful.
What is happening?
He stomps toward his hut with me hanging down his back. I do the customary flailing, but it lacks conviction. “Paxton, let me down.”
My words don’t even sound believable. I might as well tell the caveman to take me to his lair and have his way with me, for all the ways my objections fall flat.
He stalks up his steps, lowering my feet to the ground. For the longest moment, we stay there, sharing a single breath of air, while the rain pours down around us.
His arms are still around me, pulling me close. I feel his heart beating against mine. As I look up into his eyes, I see something I haven’t seen since getting to this godforsaken island . . . regret.
So, instead of pushing him away, I let him hold me. One good thing is that the adrenaline has seemed to help with my headache. It’s still there, but it’s a little less intense.
“Let’s get inside. You’re freezing,” Paxton says, grabbing my hand and leading me into his hut.
He walks me right next to the edge of the bed, and my cheeks feel warm despite the chill from my rain-soaked clothes.
I was such an idiot last night. I haven’t gotten that drunk since college. He might have called me princess, but I don’t think he understands the effect that name has on me.
I associate it with all the bad times. Every insult. Every glare.
Standing in the middle of Paxton’s hut, I wait for him to speak.
“What happened? What did I do?”
“Nothing,” I mutter back.
I should be honest and tell him what’s going on in my head, but I don’t. I’m stubborn to a fault. Perhaps the one horrific trait I carry that is all my father.
He inclines his head, eyes narrowing. “Lose the attitude, princess.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I glare at him. “Again, with the princess?” I grit through my teeth.
“That’s your issue? The pet name?” he responds, looking truly confused.
“It’s not exactly a term of endearment. It’s a condescending nickname you gave me to put me in my place.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. I never meant it as an insult. I see it as entirely different.”
Had I read him that wrong this whole time?
“I only think of you, eyes closed and mouth open that night when my fingers were inside you. To me, it’s a fond memory and a name that is entirely associated with that night.”
The air is thick with tension, and I can feel my face getting hot.
No matter how hard I try to push away the feelings that have taken over me, I can’t. Paxton’s rejection still burns. Now I’m lashing out even though I know I shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve it.
Paxton paces. I can feel the anger radiating off him, making my rage swell.
He disappears into the bathroom, leaving me to ponder what’s coming. A few minutes later, he returns, face freshly washed free of the mud I’d plastered across his cheek, and a dry shirt to replace the soaked one.
Must be nice as I sit here soaking wet and freezing.
“You should really get out of those clothes. You’re going to get sick.” He motions toward my wet clothes.
His shirt, not my own. My belongings are next door, likely under a pond of water at this point.
“I don’t have anything. It’s all over there,” I say, pointing toward my hut.
Opening a drawer, he pulls out another white T-shirt and throws it toward me.
“I don’t want your shirt,” I say, sounding petulant.
I know I need to pull myself together, but I’m too out of my element around this man.
He takes a deep breath. “Mallory, seriously, what’s with the attitude today?” His words aren’t said harshly.
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I try to turn away from him, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back around.
“You’ve been angry since you woke up,” he says. “What’s going on?”
Staring into his deep blue eyes, I finally dare to tell him how I feel.