Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“What?”
“You, sweet Willow. It’s you I want.”
He saw her take a deep breath. “Ah, I see I have surprised you.”
“Why would you want me?” Willow asked. “I’m not anything special. I’m not … anything.” She frowned.
“But you’re who I want, and this is going to happen. You and me.” He released her curl and then took her hand within his. She had soft hands. Small hands.
They arrived at his apartment block and Peter drove toward the underground parking. Carson didn’t wait for his door to be opened for him. The moment the car came to a stop, he opened the door and held his hand out to Willow. She hesitated for a second, and he was sure to lock their fingers together as they walked into the building. He went straight to the elevator as he wasn’t interested in prolonging their time in public spaces. He wanted her in the privacy of his penthouse suite.
She tried to pull out of his grip, but her strength was no match for him. He watched her in the reflection of the elevator door. She kept trying to look everywhere and anywhere but at him.
The elevator didn’t take long, and they stepped onto his floor. He pulled out his key, and within minutes he finally had her in his penthouse. Over the past six months he had made a few modifications. He turned the spare bedroom into her personal sewing room. He couldn’t create a woman’s touch, as that was down to her, but there was now a closet for her in his bedroom, which they would share.
Willow pulled away from him, and this time he let her go.
She put her hands at her sides and took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m here. What now?”
“Now, we eat.”
He had surprised her, and he couldn’t help but smile at that. “We eat?”
“Yes, we eat.” He removed his jacket and she instantly went for the door, which he locked. “You can try to escape all you want, it’s not going to work.”
He heard another growl as he made his way into the kitchen. Carson opened the fridge and found the steaks he’d left marinating that morning. The ingredients for the salad were there, and all he had to do was boil some new potatoes. Preparing his own food was a real treat to him. He loved the process. After spending many of his younger years starving and begging for food, he always made sure he had plenty to eat.
In fact, if he took time to reflect on it, there were a lot of things he did based on experiences of his childhood. He always had plenty of food and lots of money. He removed rats from his life, and surrounded himself in power. People feared him, but he was also fair. Provided they didn’t cross him or betray him, those that worked for him were handsomely rewarded. It wasn’t a bad way to live your life, at least he didn’t think so.
“You’re going to cook me food?” Willow asked.
“That is the plan. It’s late and you didn’t have anything in your apartment that would be considered food, so yes, we’re going to eat.” He looked toward her. “Sit.”
She folded her arms across her chest.
“Do you think that bothers me?” he asked. “It makes your tits look mighty appealing.” She immediately dropped her arms and glared at him.
Did she even realize her nipples were puckered? His penthouse wasn’t cold. Another little thing from his childhood—he wouldn’t allow the cold to last. Every place he went had more than adequate heating. It was one of the first things he repaired in Willow’s apartment, the heating.
He didn’t want to remember the number of nights he spent out in the cold, or even shivering in his own bed, where a single blanket wouldn’t warm him.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused on the potatoes. They were all cut and he moved to the sink to fill the pot with water. Once that was done, he placed them on the stove and started to warm them up. The steaks were already out of the fridge and getting to room temperature. Next, he moved onto preparing the tomatoes to be grilled, and once that was done, he mixed the salad together. He put the dressing to one side as he preferred to mix at the end.
“When did you learn to cook?” Willow asked.
While he’d been dealing with the food, she’d taken a seat in the chair. He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m self-taught,” he said.
He’d not been willing to ask anyone to teach him the basics of cooking for himself. Once he started to earn his own money, he’d either used books in the library, or cooking shows, and he’d copied them, mimicking what they did.
“It looks good,” Willow said.
Her cheeks began to warm and he had a feeling she was talking about more than just the food. Carson didn’t mind at all. She could admire his technique all she wanted.