Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Cursing, I wipe my hand on my jeans and pull it out. “Hey, Daniel. I’m at work—”
“The cops came by the house,” he says, his voice sharp as he cuts me off. “You want to tell me why that is? Something about a fight?”
Sighing, I bite my lower lip. I can just my step-dad back at the house now, pissed off because his only son has got himself in trouble yet again.
“A guy downtown tried to assault Eliza,” I tell him. “So I laid him out.”
There’s a long pause. Clearly this wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but I’m sure he’s still pissed. “You laid him out?”
“That’s right.”
“You couldn’t have just…talked to him?” he asks. “Maybe settled it in a non-violent fashion?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Listen, Daniel, if you’d have been there, you’d know that despite what he’s probably told the cops, I went easy on him.” The foreman waves at me from across the site. It’s time to get back to work. “I gotta go. We can talk about this later.”
Without waiting, I hang up and stuff my phone back in my pocket and get back to work. I do my best to just focus on the job at hand, but it’s like trying to push a round boulder up a mountain. My mind just keeps slipping back to her dress, her legs, the neckline that barely held her cleavage…
But most of all, I just can’t stop thinking of those words she spoke and the way she looked when she spoke them.
“You left.”
Just replaying the moment in my mind crushes me. I thought leaving was the right thing. Distance was supposed to protect her—protect her from me.
I can see her now, clear as day, prancing down the street in that dress and those heels—all those men’s eyes feasting upon her beauty. I wanted to break all their faces, and they didn’t even touch her.
I tried staying away, but I can’t. Not anymore. Someone has to look out for her. And that someone has to be me.
I manage to finish the pour with the crew, and we get let off early. Immediately, I drive back to the house—our house—not even bothering to go back to my apartment to shower. I’m just checking in on her. It’s my duty as her step-brother to see how she’s doing. To make sure she’s safe.
There’s only one car outside when I pull into the driveway. Hers. Mom’s probably out having coffee with friends, and Daniel is probably checking out a new car to restore.
The house is quiet when I enter, but Eliza’s scent immediately hits me, nearly knocking me to my knees. I wasn’t expecting to be alone with her, but it’s too late to turn back. I just have to make sure she’s safe—that Tony or one of his bastard friends hasn’t come to hassle her—and then I’m gone.
“Eliza,” I call out, but there’s no response. I know where she is. Up in her room drawing like she always is. So I take the stairs, my heart pounding against my ribs as I reach her door. It’s slightly cracked, and I peer through to see her sitting on the floor with her back to me.
She’s wearing tiny shorts that barely cover anything, and is bent over a large sheet of paper in a downward-dog style pose, showing off every inch of her glorious ass to me. My cock instantly swells, and I bite my cheek hard in a failed attempt to calm it down.
Her oversized T-shirt slips off one shoulder. No bra. The light from the window traces every curve of her waist and hips.
Just go. You see she’s safe, so just go. Get out of here and go back to your apartment.
There’s no excuse for what I’m doing now. I’m not like one of those men at the club. I don’t want to hurt her. I want to protect her. More than that.
I want to make her life special. Show her just how special she is, because lord knows she has no idea. Not yet. She doesn’t even understand how great of an artist she is. Her work should be in galleries. People should be buying prints from her. But she hides it away here, in her room, for no one else to see.
I turn to go, but my legs don’t listen. I can’t. I’m starting to lose control. “Eliza,” I say, but she doesn’t hear me. I raise my voice. “Eliza!”
Startled, she nearly jumps out of her skin as she scrambles to turn around. When she sees me, the fear falls from her eyes but is replaced by something different. Anger? Or relief?
“What were you doing?” she asks, sounding annoyed. “Spying on me?”
“It’s my house too, you know,” I counter, stepping into her room.
“Is it? Because as far as I know, you got yourself a new place to live.” Her words sting. She’s right; I did. But I’ve never been told that I don’t live here any longer—that this isn’t my house. “Why are you even here?”