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“And yet you’re doing it so well, I almost doubt it’s on purpose. You know, like when you crashed my party and seduced me in the bathroom.”
“That was only so I could distract you, and it worked.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Men.”
“What was that?”
“Men are so simple, no matter how grandiose they think they are.” I jut my chin in his direction. “You’re part of the herd, Mr. I’m Smarter Than You And Your Entire Bloodline.”
“Iamsmarter than you and your entire bloodline, or you wouldn’t be here, in the palm of my hand, exactly how I planned it.”
“I’m in no one’s palm. And the only reason I’m here is because you threatened my sister. I wouldn’t have given you the time of the day under different circumstances.”
“But youaregiving me the time of the day.”
“Unwillingly.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“My free will doesn’t matter?”
“The excuses you offer your mind don’t. I have no interest in participating in whatever lies you tell yourself to convince your brain that you’re not remotely attracted to me. Unlike you, I don’t sugarcoat the truth.”
He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a key that looks like one of those enchanted treasure findings and uses it to open the door.
It creaks and squeaks like a dying person’s attempt to resurrect.
My spine jerks into a line at the graphic noise, but I still wear the mask of indifference. Or I hope I do as I carefully follow the beast into his lair.
The inside isn’t any better than the outside. Upon entry, I’m hit by the musty smell of the decaying building. The wind howling through the trees outside sounds ten times louder inside.
Grim, somber medieval stairs greet us in the middle of the foyer. There’s a sofa and a few chairs that have lost their color, appearing pale pink instead of what I assume was once bright orange.
The wooden flooring is chipped everywhere, and the few intact pieces look older than the British monarchy. It creaks every time we take a step. While I’m careful, Landon walks with a sense of pride that’s completely uncalled for.
My gaze strays to the open door to the left—probably a kitchen or a dining room. No matter how much I search for signs of life, this place seems more dead than my voice.
Whatever angle you look at it from, it’s too shabby, messy, and underwhelming to fit someone as elegant and well-kept as Landon.
As much as I hate the asshole, he is illegally good-looking and has the charisma of a model in anything he wears. Even earlier in a hoodie and sunglasses, many stared at him, whispering to each other as if he were a celebrity.
Of course, the bastard basked in every second of the attention he got, despite trying not to get on my brother's and cousins’ radar.
Landon is not only a psychopath but also a raging narcissist.
Psychopaths are born not made. I wonder what type of gene pool resulted in his existence and why he turned out like this when Bran is one of the best people I’ve met?
Wait…why am I curious about the asshole? I don’t give two hecks about him and his warped psychology.
“It is said that the lady of the house fell down these very stairs and broke her neck.” His sudden hot words in my ear make me shudder.
I jump away. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Whispering in my ear from behind like a creep.”
“How else will I have you tremble against me? I love your innocent reactions that are in clear contradiction with your bad-girl image. Heads-up, I will provoke it whenever I get the chance. Unless…” he trails off and tilts his head. “You’re down for getting on your knees and closing those lips around my cock?”
“No.”
