Chapter 86
Larkin paid no mind to Georgia’s frosty demeanor. A faint, almost indifferent smile played across his lips as he spoke softly. “Wounds need tending. Ignoring them only lets the pain fester.”
Georgia’s reply was icy, sharp–edged, “That’s none of your concern.” But then, recalling the weighty check she’d just accepted from him–twenty thousand dollars, a fortune in her hands–she softened her tone just enough. “Mr. Nash, I said don’t kiss my forehead again.”
Larkin’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint as he leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a gentle murmur, “Then… can! kiss you?”
Before she could respond, his lips brushed swiftly against hers, a quick peck, a claim made in silence.
Georgia dropped her gaze immediately. A flicker of revulsion clouded her eyes, so brief and so faint that Larkin missed it
entirely.
She pulled back and asked with a carefully measured voice, “Mr. Nash, does the money cover this kiss too?”
Larkin took no offense. On the contrary, he was pleased–his prey was proving far less timild than she pretended to be. “The money includes the kiss on your forehead,” he answered smoothly, a note of satisfaction threading his words.
With that, Larkin turned and strode to the door, pausing in the frame. “Miss Cooper, no need to see me off. Today was good. Thanks for the meal.”
Georgia watched the door close behind him, then pressed her palm to her forehead, where the faint sting of his kiss lingered–her scar still tender, though the doctor said it was healing.
She moved into the bathroom, stripping off her clothes layer by layer, Beneath the fabric, her body was gaunt and painfully thin, marked with dark, brazen hickeys that still throbbed beneath her skin.
Rubbing a towel roughly over the bruised fles reminder etched into her flesh.
but they clung stubbornly, a permanent
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Downstairs, Larkin didn’t rush away immediately. Hel
reflected in his dark eyes.
by a bright window, gazing up at the skyline, the city’s pulse
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, as he walked, dabbed repeatedly at the corners of his mouth, the motions restless and almost compulsive.
Finally, with a flick of disgust, he tossed the crumpled cloth into the trash,
Mason had once warned him: Larkin was courting disaster. Kissing someone on the lips made him feel sick–yet, despite the nausea, he kept doing it. Each new prey was another reckless chase, a game he couldn’t quit.
To the world, Larkin was the picture of charm–wealthy, handsome, surrounded by admirers who threw themselves at his feet. But those who knew the real him understood the cold paranoia lurking beneath the surface, the playful cruelty wrapped in a dangerous calm.
Sliding into his car, Larkin started the engine, the vehicle’s roar swallowing the silence. The dormitory building receded behind him as he drove off into the growing dusk,
The following day, Georgia carried Larkin’s check into Charlotte’s office, her hands steady but her heart heavy.
Charlotte eyed the check briefly before meeting Georgia’s gaze with a grave expression. “Georgia, you realize Larkin has more than one motive for involving you, don’t you?”
Georgia’s calm voice held a quiet strength. “Charlotte, you know my situation.”
Charlotte’s eyes softened with pity. “Georgia, please. Just give up.”
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