Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Fuck her company. I want her. Crave her with an intensity that terrifies me. That's what's fucking me up. I don't even know her, but here lately, she's the only goddamn thing I think about.
"And how did you come to that conclusion?" I ask instead of telling her any of that.
"Seriously, Dalton?" Her eyes narrow on me. "Please don't treat me like I'm stupid. I know you've been looking into the company, doing your due diligence. You've invested countless hours over the last six weeks going over our financials, our roster, our history…you've pried into every single detail of Evernight Music Group. But the one thing you haven't done is pick up the phone to call me. You don't want this marriage. You just want the company because my father dangled the possibility of a merger in your face."
Fuck.
She's right. I have poured over every detail of Evernight, preparing for the possibility of a merger. But she's wrong, too. I've spent far more of those hours obsessing over her than her company.
"You don't want this marriage, so I'm giving you your wish. The wedding is off." Despite her show of bravery, her voice trembles when she says it. She's far more upset about this than she'd like me to believe.
"Without me, you lose your company, Tempest," I remind her quietly. "You lose everything. You don't want that."
Just a minute ago, I saw the truth in her eyes. She wants this marriage. But now, she's willing to give everything up to walk away from it…just to protect the company she's willing to sacrifice. It doesn't make any fucking sense.
Why would she want to shackle herself to a bastard like me if not for her company?
"Then I have no company. Some things are more important."
"What?" I growl. "What's more important?"
"Self-respect," she says softly.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" I ask, genuinely mystified.
"I won't chain myself to a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me, Dalton," she sniffs. "I may be a big girl, but I'm not a charity case. I have more self-respect than to let myself be treated like one just because you look the way you do."
Fucking Christ. She thinks her size is a problem for me? Fuck no. She's perfect. Her curves have me so fucking hard I can't think straight.
But of course she thinks I'm a fucking pretentious asshole who thinks he's too good for her.
I've given her no reason to think otherwise, have I?
Because she's absolutely right. I found out about this marriage contract six weeks ago, but I never once tried to reach out to her. I never picked up the phone. I never went to meet her. I haven't done a fucking thing but fight it. If she's feeling insecure, the only place I need to look to find the reason is in the damn mirror.
I'm an asshole.
"Tempest, I…"
"You don't owe me an explanation. You're allowed to feel the way you feel. But so am I."
"You don't under—"
"I'll tell your grandfather that I decided not to go through with the marriage. I'll ask that he not hold you responsible." Her bottom lip quivers again before she sinks her teeth into it, stilling it.
"Tempest, dammit. Wait!"
"Don't curse at me," she snaps, fire in her eyes.
"Then stop for two seconds, and let me explain!"
"Do you always get what you want?"
"Yes," I grit out.
"Not today, you don't," she retorts, a stubborn tilt to her chin as she strides toward my office door, her sweet curves swaying. "Good luck with your company, Dalton."
Panic seizes me as she shifts to step past me. I grab for her without thinking, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. Sparks shoot through me at the contact, desire hitting me like a punch to the gut.
What the fuck am I doing?
A minute ago, I was looking for a way out of this arranged marriage. Well, here it is. She's giving me an escape route, handing it over on a silver platter. I should be leaping at the chance, not stopping her.
But I can't let her leave like this, not without answers. And everything she just told me is a bunch of bullshit. She isn't doing this because she lacks confidence. It practically fucking drips from her. There's something else; I'd stake my life on it. And I want to know what it is.
But I can't say a single word. Not when I've got my hand on her, and every fucking cell in my body is shooting off sparks, screaming at me to pull her closer and take one little taste.
I see the same desperate hunger reflected back at me in her gorgeous amber eyes. She feels this—the pull. The need. She aches the same fucking way I do right now.
"Tempest…" I start, but I have no idea what to say. How to convince her to stay. "I'm an asshole." It seems like a good place to start.