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Even though it’s through my glasses, I’m staring at him. The stranger whose actual name is Knox Van Doren.
The stranger whom I just so shamelessly told that he could have me—sexually or otherwise, he can just have me.
I sounded confident, too, as if I’m not melting on the inside. As if my skin isn’t catching fire and I’m not about to self-combust. That’s what happens when things don’t go according to plan. I lose it.
Like I lost it whenBabushkawas thrown away and basically given a death sentence. I might not make eye contact, but I can be as lethal as the people who raised me.
If not more.
Knox Van Doren.
That’s his full name. I found it after I ran from the elevator and browsed the higher employees in Weaver & Shaw and googled them. Sure enough, his name was there, with the junior partners.
And I might have researched him all night long. He comes from a mega rich family in England. His father owns an empire that’s recognized on the international scale and knows tremendous growth.
Not only that, but Knox also gained a reputation in the American press because of his antics and charming side. In the law circuit, he’s known to be a cunning devil in disguise who’s super picky on which clients to accept.
Those who are lucky to be represented by Van Doren might as well have acquired their “get out of jail free card.”Is what one of the magazines wrote about him.
I read countless articles about him and each one painted him in a more sinister light than the previous one.
What? A girl has to look out for herself.
The fact that Knox knows my real name and keeps repeating it and suspecting me is dangerous. Not only that, but it could ruin everything I’ve worked for. My new beginning.
My freedom.
Babushka’s life.
And desperate times call for desperate measures. Which is why I suggested that he have me.
Or that’s what I tell myself as I get incinerated by his presence. There’s something about it, about being so close to him that our breathing mingles together and I’m trapped by his size and his broad shoulders and those golden, intense eyes that could have been created from the combination of a forest and fire.
Or maybe a forestonfire.
There’s something about being so far beyond my comfort zone that it feels both foreign and exciting.
Delirious.
Maybe even addicting.
And like any addict, I can’t help sniffing in more, breathing in more.
Just taking in more.
“You,” he repeats slowly in that deep voice of his, with that eternal calm that still manages to steal shivers from my soul.
“Yeah, me.” It’s less confident now, betraying all the chipped things inside me.
His index and middle finger sneak beneath my chin and lift. The act is so minimal, but he might as well have doused me with gasoline and set me on fire. A touch. It’s a mere touch, so why the hell does it feel like a whole experience?
“What makes you think I want you?”
The sting of his words burns and jostles one of the broken pieces in my chest, but I grab on to my confidence with bloodstained fingers. “You did two weeks ago.”
“That was before I knew you were a liar.”
“What does that matter when I’m offering myself?”
