Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“That’s not going to work for me.”
Asshole.
“You know what? Fine. I tried to be an adult, but you are just fucking determined to make this difficult.” I turn to leave, and he grabs my arm, whipping me around so fast I almost lose my balance.
“I’m making this difficult? This is all your fault.”
“I didn’t write the will, jackass!” I scream in his face. He doesn’t even flinch.
“No, but it’s a pretty big fucking coincidence that she dies right before you come looking. How fucking dumb do you think I am? I know you’re just here for her fucking money. What’s wrong? Did Daddy cut your allowance?”
“You think I did this? You think I killed my mother for this ugly-ass house?”
“Of course I think you did it. Why else did you show up when you did? I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Because I was looking for my mother. I was told she killed herself when I was fifteen. I was looking for answers!” Tears of frustration are building behind my eyes, but he won’t see them. I pull my hand out of his arm and walk away. Before I reach the door, I stop, not turning to face him. “The funny part, if you had just talked to me like a person, if you had answered the questions I have about her, I might have let you take it all.”
“Do that now. Move out, give up your claim on my home, and I’ll give you all the answers you want.” He stands just behind me. I can feel the warmth of his body on my back. I hate how fast my heart beats and how in tune my body is with his. “All you have to do is leave, and I will tell you anything.”
His breath ghosts against my neck, sending sparks of electricity skipping across my skin. Looking up, I can see our reflection in the glass door separating the pool from the rest of the basement. His head is bent down close to my neck, he is leaning over me, his hands move to my hips, stopping just before touching me. I catch his eye in the reflection. His eyes are dark, his lips parted. He wants me as much as I want him.
Too bad he would never be enough for me, even if he wasn’t a raging asshole.
“You didn’t know I existed until after my mother was dead. Clearly, you didn’t really know anything about her. What answers could you possibly have for me?” I say.
His eyes go from dark, full of need and heat, to ice cold in a flash.
“I know everything about Freya. It wasn’t just a piece of paper that made me her son.”
“Then she lied to you. She had three real sons, she had a daughter, a family she abandoned. You didn’t know the first thing about her. I’ll find my answers on my own. Get used to me being here, or leave. Your choice.”
I throw my elbow into his stomach. He lets out a grunt, but I doubt I hurt him. He allows me to go without saying another word, and I leave him there to find the answers I need.
Something about what he said doesn’t sit right.
The timing. It is odd.
Thinking about that, I head back to my mother’s, now my room, praying she kept a diary here as well. I could simply ask Phoenix for the ones he’s been trying to push on me, but I’m not ready to unleash that chaos. Not yet.
Thirty minutes looking in drawers, on shelves, under mattresses with no luck. I’m about to give up when my door opens, and Perseus is standing on the other side, sadly now fully dressed. He glares at me from the door.
“Why are you in her room?”
“It’s my room now,” I say, sitting on the bed.
“There are dozens of other rooms to choose from. Why this one?” He braces his hands on the top of the door frame. I’m not sure if it’s to cage me in or keep him out.
“Because I can.” I sit back, bracing my hands on the bed behind me. “Please leave.”
“You can’t be in here.”
“This is my house, and this is the room I chose. Get over it, or move out.” I absolutely do not look at the way his defined arms are stretched out, and I have no desire to know what it would be like to be under him while he works out all his pent-up anger issues.
Nope, not interested. My heart is pounding because he is annoying, not because he is looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.
“This isn’t your house yet.” He means it as a threat, but why does it make heat race down my spine?
“What are you going to do, Perseus? You can’t touch me. You don’t have the balls. If anything happens to me, you end up with nothing. So either man the fuck up and do something, or go back to your room, turn your stereo up and blast angry emo music while you massage your small dick like the petulant child you are.”