Shark (a Bad Boy Romance) by Emilia Beaumont

Author:Emilia Beaumont [Beaumont, Emilia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beaumont Ink

12

Thea

“I thought you’d want…” I trailed off. Never in my life had someone rejected me like that. Not all the men with their money or those without who stared longingly at me, with only one thought and wish going through their minds, their intentions displayed like fucking neon-lighted billboards.

The backs of my eyes blazed with a thousand fires; it felt like I had just rubbed them with chillies.

“Fuck,” he said, his palms rubbing at his eye sockets. “Beatrice, I didn’t mean…”

We both seemed lost for words.

I couldn’t look at him and turned away from his glare and concentrated on the passing cars and city lights in the distance that dotted the skyline.

Anger replaced the humiliation, burning it away, evaporating the onslaught of tears that threatened to breach and give me away. Who the fuck did he think he was to reject me? What kind of man turned down a free blow-job?

“Well, how on earth am I meant to take it? You obviously don’t want me!” I yelled.

The silence in the car was so overwhelming I had to double-check for his reflection in the window to make sure he was still there. But the lights bounced the wrong way, and all I saw peering back at me was my own face.

I turned then towards the driver’s side. He was sitting in shadow, but his eyes were on me, with a look of unwavering determination in his eyes.

“Beatrice—”

I didn’t let him speak, anger flaring again.

“And stop fucking calling me Beatrice!” Each and every time he uttered those syllables a portion of my facade broke away, revealing me to be the imposter I knew I was. Knew I couldn’t let him see.

He heaved a breath. He was done with me, I could tell, my tantrum a little too much drama for his liking.

The engine roared back to life, and he pulled us back onto the road. Surprised that he hadn’t made me get out, I resolved to sit quietly, to just shut the hell up for a change.

A few miles later and after a few twists and turns, Vincent slid the truck onto an empty driveway in front of a house in need of repair. He got out, leaving me alone in the dark, my head bowed in shame and my only company my bewildered thoughts.

The passenger door flew open, causing me to gasp in fright. I’d thought he left me and gone into the house, but soon his hands were on me forcing me out of the car.

“Get out,” he demanded. There was no denying him; his command wasn’t a request. So, with his hand clamped hard, but not painfully so, around my wrist I followed a step behind him as he led me to the house.

Without another word we were climbing the rickety stairs, walking across a landing, then entering a darkened room. The air was musty, but there was a lingering sweet scent that I couldn’t put my finger on.

With a swipe of a long arm he closed the door behind us, then pinned me to it.

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