Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

started pecking at the other loaf. I laughed at his antics.
    When was the last time you laughed? I asked myself, and a wave of sadness hit me. There hadn’t been much to laugh about lately. Ethan had taken my sense of humour when he took my bed linen and all of my Monty Python coffee mugs.
    My body sagged with exhaustion. I was only twenty-three. I should have been backpacking through Cambodia, or following a death metal band around Germany, or getting my pilot’s license, or something equally frivolous and reckless. I thought again of my girlfriends, who were all pursuing their dreams with their dream men and having loads of fun. I had been working my arse off on my bakery dream of the last three years, and all I’d got for my efforts was a nightmare.
    But what could I do? I still owed £15,000 on the credit card from Ethan’s spending, and at least double that to the HMRC. I couldn’t afford to hire anyone else. If I could somehow find the time to take on more catering jobs, I could replace some of the furniture Ethan stole. The shop was doing well, and as soon as I was out of debt, I could afford to ease up a little. But until then, I was trapped, and this tight, frightened feeling in my chest wasn’t going to go away.
    I wished I didn’t feel so tired all the time, so stressed. Even when I collapsed into bed at night after twelve hours of non-stop work, I felt panicked, as though there were something more I should have done. I was too young to be tied to a job for 75 hours a week. But tied I was, thanks to my own stupid decisions.
    My chest heaved, and I sucked in a couple of deep breaths, feeling a lump rise in my throat. I was dangerously close to bursting into tears. Crying is pointless, Belinda. You’ve cried enough over Ethan already. It won’t get the bills paid and the debt wiped. All that will do that is hard work.
    I buried my face in my hands, dragging my feet up to my knees as I desperately tried to get my emotions under control. As I did this, I knocked the second baguette off the bench. I peeked through my fingers, watching as it rolled across the grass, gaining momentum as it headed toward the lake. All my duck friends waddled after it, diving for the water as the roll fell in with a plop . The ducks swarmed around it, my presence instantly forgotten as they tore at the loaf.
    So much for my company.
    I pulled out the other paper bag, and took out a custard slice. I was getting sick of my own baking, and the habit of subsisting primarily on pastry was starting to show around my stomach. But today I was having a hard time coping, and the interaction with the biker in the shop this morning had left me feeling strange and sad. His handsome face flashed across my vision, that cheeky smile, those smouldering eyes that betrayed a hint of sadness and pain beyond their mischievous sparkle. How would it feel to be desired by a guy like that? What would it be like to kiss those lips, feel that stubble against my skin, the tendrils of his hair falling over my face?
    And why did his attitude change so suddenly? Why was he flirty one moment, and intense and sad the next?
    I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. He didn’t want me. Of course he didn’t. He’d made that perfectly clear. My cheeks burned at the memory of his remarks. He was probably still laughing about it as he drank Tennessee whiskey with his mates down at the pub. He could have any girl he wanted. Flirting was a game to him. And that wasn’t a game I wanted to play.
    But that sadness in his eyes, the pain raw on his face ... it had flickered there for a moment, but I had seen it. He knew my pain, because he’d been hurt by someone, too.
    What had he said? “You’ve been hurt badly.” Was it that obvious? Was Ethan’s betrayal written all over my face, the way the biker’s pain flickered over his?
    I am not sweet, not even close. Maybe I didn’t need someone sweet. Maybe what I needed was someone to fuck and forget, someone who could