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I thought living with the man called The Beast would be torture; it turns out him ignoring me is even worse.
But he isn’t ignoring me now.
He can’t.
His gaze bores into me as I slowly make my way into the water. It reaches my bare stomach, and I shiver again at the iciness washing over my skin, but if I stop now, I might never reach where I want to be.
Within reach of him so he can’t run.
I continue in, slowly sinking until I can tread water. Still several feet away from Weston, I scan the lake and surrounding peaks.
Up higher, the first evidence of the coming winter flashes white in the sun, but on Barker Mountain, we’re enveloped by varying greens and hints of oranges and reds as fall threatens.
Picture-perfect.
A postcard come to life.
Out here, it’s easy to forget what lies only a few miles away. Simple to ignore all the bodies in the ground and at the bottom of that gorge. One might be able to pretend that reality doesn’t exist, and that’s my plan, for the time being.
“It’s beautiful here…”
Weston clears his throat. “It is.”
But as I drag my focus from the area around the lake and back to him, I find he isn’t examining the scenery like I have been. He’s staring right at me with a look I never expected to want to see.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The man is essentially holding me captive.
I could walk down the mountain.
I could probably even beg him for my keys and drive away.
But it would mean Dad would pay the price.
Whether he’s calling the shots or is merely the jailer, Weston might as well have me here shackled. Yet, I want to be closer to him. I want to find out what makes him tick and why things aren’t adding up. I want answers that only he can give me, and I want this fire that seems to light inside me every time we’re in the same room to be quenched.
If that’s even possible…
It burns hotter each day that passes, and even now, as I swim closer, the cool waters swirling around me.
Weston retreats, his hands moving along the surface. “What are you doing, Callista?”
His low, gravelly tone should make me wary and act as a warning to turn around and climb out of the water. It screams, leave me alone. But apparently, I lack the same self-preservation instinct when it comes to The Beast that I possessed when I drove up here because it makes me heat from between my legs out through my entire body, despite the chilly liquid surrounding us.
Fighting a grin at his discomfort, I inch toward him. “Swimming.”
Jaw clenched, he retreats. “You’re playing a dangerous game, girl.”
I raise a brow at him. “I’m not a girl, Weston. I haven’t been one for a very long time. I’m thirty years old and not some innocent virgin whose virtue you need to protect.”
Though, it has been long enough that I feel like a virgin, unable to remember the last time I had an orgasm from a dick or even a man’s hand.
He growls deep, the sound rippling across the almost glassy water. “And I’m old enough to be your father.”
I snort and can’t fight the grin as I vividly recall what I just saw when I walked out of those trees. His strong, chiseled chest and arms, rippling abs, rock-hard body all the way down.
The man doesn’t look like he’s in his mid-fifties, nor does he act like it. He’s fucking stunning, an Adonis carved out of marble, complete with the silver hair that makes him all the more appealing.
