Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He continued his ruthless stare, not blinking once since this topic had been broached. His arms remained crossed over his hard chest, the biceps of his arms enormous bulges under his dark ink. He didn’t say a word, but his silence was loud enough to be present in the conversation.
“I just…want to make that clear.” From the first time I’d seen Bastien, it’d been a whirlwind of passionate nights and heated kisses and ass-grabs. It was exactly what I needed right now, but I didn’t want anything more, not when my heart was still broken, not when I couldn’t imagine giving my heart to another man after what Adrien had done to me.
His head remained cocked and his eyes intense.
I waited for him to say something, and I swallowed the tension down my throat.
He continued to look at me, his thoughts a mystery, his reaction restrained. “Okay.”
“I can’t see myself in a relationship for a very long time.”
“Okay.”
Something about the way he spoke made it seem like his words were hollow, like they were meaningless. “What does that mean?”
“I said okay.”
“But the way you’re saying it… It’s like you’re dismissing me.”
He continued his hard stare.
“You mean a lot to me, and I don’t want to mislead you.”
“Okay.”
“You’re doing it again. It’s like you don’t believe me—”
“He hurt you. I get it,” he said. “You need time.”
He seemed to accept what I said, said what I wanted to hear, but there was something to his tone, to his stare, that made me feel otherwise. Like my words made no difference whatsoever.
He pushed off the desk and walked around it to open one of the drawers. He grabbed a wad of cash rolled up in a rubber band and set it at the edge of the desk. “Buy whatever you need.”
The top denomination was a five-hundred-euro bill and there had to be at least twenty bills in the roll, so it must have been about ten thousand euros—just sitting in one of the drawers in his desk. Not even locked up in a safe. “I can’t take your money.”
He stared me down, a slight look of annoyance in his gaze. “You can take the money and save me a shopping trip—or you can be stubborn and waste my time.”
My eyes shifted away when I couldn’t handle that stare.
He took the wad of cash off the table and walked over to where my purse sat on the armchair. He dropped the money inside then headed back to the bedroom, a muscular behemoth who made the floorboards creak under his weight. “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”
When I woke up the next morning, he was already out of bed.
I checked the time on my phone and saw that it was noon.
I left the bed, used the restroom, and then found him in the sitting room, already dressed for the day like he’d completed his workout and showered while I slept like a baby. He was in an olive-green long-sleeved shirt and black jeans and boots—fucking delicious as usual.
“Morning, sweetheart.” He sat at the dining table, drinking a cup of coffee while reading the newspaper. He patted his thigh for me to take a seat.
I smiled then dropped onto his lap, circling my arm around his neck before I kissed him. My shirt rose up my thighs, and his fingers grazed over the bare skin that was exposed. “Morning.”
“Hungry?”
“Assume I’m always hungry until told otherwise.”
He smirked, the morning light making his blue eyes shine. “I want to show you my favorite spot.”
“I find it hard to believe there are better pancakes out there.”
“You’ll have to be the judge of that.”
I got dressed and did what I could with my hair. My makeup had turned into a mess, so I washed it off and chose to have a clean face instead. I wondered if I should pack a bag whenever I came over here, but that felt too serious when I’d just told him I only wanted casual. Dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday, his driver took us to the restaurant in the 10th arrondissement and pulled up to the curb.
I read the sign out front. “Holybelly. I think I’ve heard of this place.”
“It’s an American breakfast joint.” He got out first and held the door open for me. “The French do everything better—eat, drink, fuck—except breakfast. The Americans take the gold for that.” He led the way, entered the restaurant first, and grabbed us a booth.
The place was packed with people. Not a single table was empty. I sat across from him, a bit self-conscious that I didn’t have any makeup on. It was different when it was just the two of us in bed or at his dining table. But in public, I felt like a slob. At least I’d brushed my teeth with his toothbrush. When he saw me do it, he just smirked and continued whatever he was doing.