Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I cross my arms. It’s hard to imagine my gangster brother doing good with his life, but then again, Iain always was like that. Even when we were younger, he used to help the little kids on the block, used to protect them from bullies.
He sure as hell protected me from plenty.
“If you’re trying to make me feel bad, congratulations, you did it. I feel like an enormous piece of shit. Happy?”
“Not really. I just don’t want you to have this one-dimensional view of your brother. He did a lot of stupid things, but he also tried to do good, too.”
I put my mug on the counter and leave the kitchen. I can’t keep having this conversation with Carson, not when he’s staring at me like that, and especially not when he’s showing off those perfectly muscular forearms of his. After a moment, he drifts after me. I glance at the nest of blankets and pillows on the futon, all neatly folded, and his shoes by the door.
“Take me to see him,” I say, turning to glare at my pseudo-captor. I don’t even know how to think of him right now. Stalker? Monster? “If he’s out of surgery, I want to visit.”
Carson shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Same reason I told you to stay away yesterday. Which you ignored.”
“Too bad. If you won’t take me, I’ll get there myself.”
His jaw works. I can tell that annoyed him. “I know you’re always stubborn, but this is bigger than what you want.”
“Oh, you know me, do you? We were acquaintances ten years ago and you think you know me?” He only stares, unblinking, imposing. “Listen to me, Carson. You’re my brother’s friend, but you’re not mine. I’m going to the hospital whether you take me or not.”
I move toward the door, but he’s faster. He slips into my path, holding out his hands, but doesn’t touch me. His fingers hover inches from my body, and I tremble slightly at the thought of him closing the distance. But neither of us moves.
“Instead of charging off with your head down, how about we make a deal?” His voice is silky and low like a velvet purr.
I cross my arms, pulse skyrocketing. I can’t let him get to me. “I’d rather not. Move.”
“I’ll take you to the hospital. You can visit with your brother. When you’re finished, instead of going to Bottle of Smoke, you’ll come home with me, back to the Crowley Mansion. You’ll get yourself settled and stay there for the foreseeable future.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Foreseeable future?”
“Until I’ve managed to stop the people that want to hurt you.” He moves close then, crushing the distance between us, and puts a hand on my arm. He doesn’t grab, doesn’t squeeze, and his touch sends a wild, stupid thrill into my guts. His presence looms, his mouth too close, his smell overwhelming.
“What if you can’t?”
“I can and I will. But you haven’t heard the end of my offer.”
“There’s more? Free run of your fancy mansion isn’t enough?”
“I’ll protect you, Ash. I’ll buy the best doctors and medical care in the world to save Iain. I’ll even protect the remaining members of your family. All those scared aunts and cousins. In exchange, I’ll ask you to do one thing for me.”
“What’s that?” If he says something dirty, I might explode. I’m about to throw myself at this man even if that means getting myself killed.
My hands are shaking, my back is sweating.
Carson standing this close is sending my nervous system spinning into hyperdrive.
He leans closer and whispers.
“I want you to marry me.”
His words feel like someone sucked my brains out through my ears. I blink at him, numb and not understanding.
Then I burst out laughing.
Chapter 11
Carson
She laughs. It’s not ideal.
I’ve never proposed to someone before, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to treat it like a joke.
“Marry you? Are you being serious right now? You want me to marry you? That’s just—that’s just—it’s not funny. It’s the worst joke in the world!”
“And yet you’re laughing.”
Her mirth dies down, replaced by anger. She tries to shove me back, but it’s like being punched by an annoyed toddler. “I’m not marrying you. I don’t even like you, why the hell would we get married? You can’t possibly want that from me. I don’t even want your protection, and you think I’d marry you for it? This is just—I don’t even—I can’t—” She moves past me, heading to the door.
Throwing a tantrum all because I want to make her my wife.
“I can save Bottle of Smoke.”
She pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks back. “You can… what?”
“I can save Bottle of Smoke,” I repeat more slowly. Staring at her, looking at every one of her little reactions, all her microexpressions. Sadness, anger, and yes, there’s lust in her eyes too. She wants to fuck me like I want to fuck her. Like I want to destroy her. “I can do more than save it. You want an investment of half a million dollars? Consider it done. You want more? Double, triple? I can give you that much every year if that’s what you want.”