Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Yeah.”
“I want you to find someone,” I tell him. “It shouldn’t be difficult. Last night he went out with two ears and came home with one. Somebody knows who he is, so put the feelers out. Spread some money around if you have to. I want you to bring him here. Make it this morning. And I want him alive. I want to hear him scream and beg before the end.”
By early afternoon, all the rage is out of my system, leaving me calm and focused when I walk into the florist place Cassandra opened a week ago. She’s turned away when I enter, reaching up to water a succulent on a high shelf, allowing me a full view of her mouth-watering ass in figure-hugging white leggings as the little bell above the door rings pleasantly.
“Be with you in a moment,” she calls without turning, and I have to smile to myself. Not for the first time, I detect genuine pleasure from her over what is apparently nothing more than a cover job.
But I can’t afford to be distracted. Not now. I can’t afford to think of her as anything more than my enemy.
Destroy her and send her back to Jackson.
I glance around the shop, happy to see there’s nobody else here. “No rush,” I say, delighting at the way her shoulders stiffen at the sound of my voice. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
She snaps around, meeting my eyes and then averting hers. Interesting. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course. I was surprised you weren’t there when I woke up.”
“I…I had to get to work.”
“So I see. My driver is outside.” I wait for her to respond, but she just looks confused, so I add, “Close up and come with me.”
She scoffs, but I see a blush cross her face. “Just close up? I get a lot of custom later in the afternoon. My profit margins—”
“I’ll take everything you have,” I say without hesitation. “Now you have nothing to sell.”
I see her eyes narrow. “Don’t joke.”
“No joke. I could do with freshening up the house with a few plants and flowers. I’ll buy it all, you can deliver it later. But first—”
“I might still get orders, even if I have nothing in stock.”
I can’t help but grin. Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s being stubborn. “Fine, every new delivery you get in, I’m reserving it for myself.”
Cassandra puts a hand on her hip, huffing as she tilts her body in that sexy way women do, looking annoyed. “For how long? Because when I have no more customers and can’t get any sales I don’t think—”
“For the rest of your life.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I don’t know who’s more shocked, me or her. Did I really just promise that? Why doesn’t it feel like a mistake?
I try to remind myself that she’s really an FBI agent, and this place is just a cover that will close down as soon as she finds out she can’t get what she really wants, but my mind isn’t buying it. I want her to stay, I want her to remain in my life, and if it means she’s my personal fucking florist then so be it.
“I happen to enjoy my work,” she protests, but a little of the heat is gone from her words. “I don’t want to just be given money for doing nothing.”
“Good, because I have a large house and I expect you to fill it.”
She stares at me, and I at her.
Fuck. Fill my house.
The double meaning in my words is obvious to us both, the only question being whether they’re deliberate from my subconscious or completely coincidental. I glance down at her belly, the thought of her filling my house with more than just plants suddenly consuming me.
Yes, I want her. I want her like that.
I want to breed her, and I’ve never wanted anything more.
But she’s not real.
I growl at the intruding thought and see her stiffen, but she doesn’t draw back. She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. She responds to me in ways I’ve never dreamed could be possible. And yet…
And yet how can I trust someone who’s working for my worst enemy? How can I trust that unless…
Unless I test her. Unless I show her everything and then see if she tries to take it from me. I’m not even sure if my heart will stand it, but it’s the only way. It’s that or always wonder.
“Andrew Jackson,” I say, snapping my eyes to hers, looking for something. I’m not even sure what.
She pales. “What did you just say?”
I don’t know whether to reveal everything and make all this plain and simple for her, or continue to explore what this is between us. “He’s…he killed my sister. Artemis is dead because of him.” I remind myself that she’s not supposed to know who that is, and add, “He’s an FBI agent. Deputy Assistant Director now. I think.”