Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
But then Sully-not-Sully pressed himself against me again and I knew. No amount of sensors or oils or gimmicks could prevent me from knowing.
I knew without any remaining doubt.
This man was not him.
This man did not have the right to touch me, fuck me, love me.
This man was nothing.
“Let me go,” I snarled.
Sully-not-Sully flat-out ignored me, arching his hips to slide his cock between my legs.
The glint of a dirty pitchfork wedged against his jugular. “She said stop.”
A repeat of what he’d already muttered in a voice that held the barest of gruff and laced with a Southern accent. I’d never heard that voice before. I’d never met this brown-eyed, blond-haired boy in my life.
And yet…sparks.
Awareness…knowing.
Goosebumps sprang all over, reducing my horror to hope.
Could it be?
Was it him?
And if it was…why?
What was the purpose of this hellish trick?
How could I trust anything, anyone ever again?
Was that the game?
To understand how Sully struggled to see past masks and promises and fakery? To reveal how trust could never be given if your heart said one thing but your mind another?
Even suffering this riddle for a few short minutes, I was exhausted.
Exhausted fighting my psyche’s natural craving to trust. The undeniable need to believe in what you thought was real because that was where safety lay. If the one person you thought you could trust turned out to be your worst enemy…then nothing was safe.
The world was a cesspit of liars and thieves and murderers, all hiding behind sweetness and smiles and the utmost simplicity of trust.
Trust.
That damn inconvenient emotion that ultimately destroyed the gullible and allowed the deceitful to run free.
My shoulders slumped.
My revelation had come fierce and fast, leaving me fumbling for air.
The stable hand shot me a worried glance. His brown eyes glossed with concern, his eyebrows tugged low in hatred for the man forcing himself upon me. Without a word, he jabbed the pitchfork deeper against Sully-not-Sully’s throat. “Get off her.”
Three new words in a stranger’s voice.
But I closed my eyes and listened to the magic behind it. The crackle of lightning. The hint of thunder. The tropical breeze and salt-dusted home of the man who’d done his best to break me.
I sighed as the pitchfork drew a droplet of blood from Sully’s imposter, forcing him to back up and tuck his erection back into his jeans.
Seeing such a gorgeous man like Sully be borrowed by a guest with no conscience made me exquisitely sad. Could I ever look at him the same way again? Could I trust him the next time he touched me?
Can I ever forgive him for what he’s done?
“Are you okay?” the stable boy murmured, placing himself in front of me while still angling the pitchfork at Sully-not-Sully.
Whoever the guest was had gone strangely silent. The rebuttal or rage that I expected was mysteriously absent.
Smoothing down my dress, I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Did he hurt you?”
My tiredness made me want to slither down the barn wall and slump into a pile of hay. I was done playing this game. I was through being used in whatever way Sully intended.
This was a breach of everything between us.
This was unforgivable.
New tears trickled down my face, these born from grief and pain. Giving into the exhaustion, I planted my hands over my eyes, unwilling to look at the man I thought I knew and the stable hand I didn’t.
A buzz sounded. A click and a whirr.
I looked up.
The stable hand stood in front of me, the pitchfork at his feet. One hand dragged through his sandy blond locks, the other balled into a fist by his thigh. He wore a simple black shirt with tan patches sewn over areas of wear. His jeans were equally as filthy as Sully-not-Sully’s had been.
He was the exact opposite of the blue-eyed, miserably brooding mogul who ruled forty-four islands in the middle of nowhere.
But I knew him.
My soul recognised him.
He was familiar.
He was mine.
Or at least…he was.
He shifted under my stare, guilt flaring with brown fire in his gaze.
I frowned, once again sensing something wasn’t right.
But what?
Looking over his shoulder, I expected to see Sully’s imposter staring at us, watching this tender moment, ready to attack the stable hand and continue his assault on me.
Only…there was no one else.
No hint that there had ever been a third person in this complex, confusing illusion.
There was just me and this lanky boy who watched me with utmost desolation, knowing he’d fucked up yet remained tongue-tied on how to fix it.
With a weary sigh, I gave up any pretences.
I stopped playing this game of lies.
I looked the boy directly in his face and gave him the finger. A slur that needed no interpretation. “Fuck you, Sully Sinclair. Fuck you.”
Chapter Twenty
“HOW?” I shrugged with utmost vulnerability. Vulnerability I’d always kept buried. “How did you know?”
Eleanor swiped at her tears and straightened her spine. “The same way you’d know if I appeared in a different form.”