Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Like I said, you delight me, Miss Clarendon. But not nearly so much, I think, as you delight my son.”
There’s a long silence between us, filled only with the music of the live orchestra in their dim corner, the movements of our feet, the sounds of conversation and laughter all around us.
Before I look away pointedly, trying to make myself blush even though it doesn’t seem to be cooperating when I feel so cold.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Arrendell...”
“I think you do.” His fingers tighten on mine. I look up into a gaze burning like a cruel green sun, like he’s trying to drag me into his undertow by the sheer force of his personality. “Ulysses is smitten with you. I can’t help but wonder how you feel about him.”
Sweet Jesus.
There’s something so off here.
On the surface, he sounds like a man curious about a girl his son might be serious about, just asking probing questions to protect his family.
But there’s a different edge to it.
Almost like he thinks I owe him an answer, something personal.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but I wonder if this is how a man would sound if the girl he’s been stalking and terrorizing was paying attention to anyone but him.
Especially with how his hand rests just above the small of my back, skin to skin where the plunging back of the gown leaves my spine exposed, leaving me feeling slimy everywhere his hand touches.
It’s almost possessive.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like anyone touching me that way but Lucas.
I choke down pure revulsion, searching for an answer that doesn’t blow this whole thing.
“Yes, he’s been lovely to me ever since I moved here. Always doing his best to take care of me, despite...” I let my voice hitch. “Despite everything, really.”
Montero nods gravely and leads me into another turn.
“Ah, yes. I don’t blame you, my dear, if you’re still upset over such grisly business. You’ve had quite the run of bad luck. When we spoke before, I meant to convey my condolences regarding the young man who died. You were acquainted, were you not?”
This time I’m not faking the way my breath sucks in.
It hurts.
Yes, Roger was a creep, but he still shouldn’t have wound up gutted in a town he didn’t even know.
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “He was my ex-boyfriend. I didn’t—we didn’t have anything between us anymore. I broke up with him, but...” Licking my lips, I lower my eyes. “I just wish he hadn’t died like that.”
And I wish I wasn’t in the arms of a possible murderer.
I know all signs point to the Jacobins, but that doesn’t rule out Montero having a hand in it.
There’s something running deeper here, and the bracelet on my wrist feels like the key.
“Shameful. Just as shameful as the fact that the police haven’t come close to identifying the perpetrator yet.” He tsks, his eyes hardening. His grip draws me in closer until our bodies are almost touching. I fight not to cringe away from the crawling heat of his skin. “We’ll need to have a talk at the next budget meeting with Chief Bowden, I think. I’m concerned where they’re allocating their resources.”
Defensiveness snaps inside me and I force it down, keeping my voice neutral. “They’re trying. I can’t imagine they’re used to dealing with anything like this in a town as small as Redhaven, right?”
“This town does have its surprises, but you’re correct,” Montero muses. He looks at me for a long, strange moment, his mouth tightening before it relaxes into an easy smile. “I think I feel eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. Perhaps my son would like to cut in.” He spins me around until I see Ulysses, loitering against the wall and watching us with his mouth set in a broody frown. “He doesn’t like to share.”
Before I can remind him that I’m not Ulysses’ to share, Montero bends closer.
Too close.
His breath feels wet and hot near my ear as he whispers, “But I do delight in watching him enjoy himself.”
I’m frozen.
Struggling not to shove him and give myself away—but he pulls back slowly. His jaw brushes my cheek and he releases me with an almost triumphant smile.
My tongue is ice.
It’s so bad I’m actually a little grateful for Ulysses coming to save me. He crosses the dance floor to take my arm.
“I take it your dance is over,” he says, giving his father a flinty look. He glances down at me, handing over my champagne. “You look like you need to sit, Delilah. Would you mind if I took a moment to speak with my father while you rest?”
“No, that’s fine,” I say weakly.
Actually, that’s perfect.
Even as the two men walk away with their heads close together, I take quick stock of my surroundings before making a beeline toward a weird flower-covered circular sofa. I picked it for three reasons.