Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
In nothing but one of the robes that hung in the bathroom, I returned to the bedroom to find Bartholomew was awake. He sat on the terrace in nothing but his sweatpants, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
I stepped outside. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
He lowered the paper and looked at me, his eyes focused on the tie of my robe. “I told you I had business.”
“But I thought you conducted your business at night.”
He continued to stare at my stomach as if he didn’t hear a word I said. Then he tugged one side of the tie, making the material loosen around my waist and my robe partially open. The skin of my stomach was revealed, the inside swell of my tits too. His hand moved up my thigh to my ass, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my bare skin. “Have some breakfast.” He pushed the chair beside him from underneath the table, making it slide out so I could sit.
With a spread of cheeses and fresh croissants and fruit, I couldn’t say no. I took a seat, basking in the morning light, and watched him pour me a cup of coffee. He leaned back in the chair and went back to reading his newspaper.
We sat quietly, enjoying our breakfast in the comfortable silence between two people well acquainted with each other. The coffee was exquisite, along with the aged cheeses and fresh honey, but my stomach was in waves at the moment. “I wish you could come with me.”
He lowered the newspaper and looked at me.
I didn’t even realize what I’d said until I said it.
“I can—if that’s what you want.”
“No…my father would interrogate me about you.”
“You don’t have to answer his questions as it’s none of his business.”
“It’s just not the time or place. I’m there to pay my respects…not draw attention to myself.”
Bartholomew stared with his hard gaze, keeping his thoughts to himself. “And what will you say if your ex asks if you’re seeing anybody?”
“I doubt he’ll ask.”
“And if he does?” he pressed.
“The truth,” I finally said with a shrug. “That I’m getting the best sex of my life…” I said it with my gaze averted, not because of the shame, but because it was meaningless.
He didn’t gloat or smile, like he was used to hearing that kind of praise. After the volume of sex he must have had in his life, it was no surprise that he could fuck so well.
I took a couple bites of food, washed it down with my coffee, and then stepped back inside to get dressed.
His voice came from behind me. “Would you like some of the best sex of your life before you go?” He stood there in his gray sweatpants, low on his hips, his abs so chiseled against that hard body. Now he grinned, with an almost boyish charm.
I dropped the robe from my shoulders as I faced him, standing there in nothing but my thong. “Please.”
12
BARTHOLOMEW
I was tired.
These were not my normal working hours, waking up in the morning, the sun high in the sky and beating down on my face. I took the car from the garage and made my escape from Florence into the countryside of Tuscany. Springtime greenery was everywhere, motorbikes enjoying the open road before the tourist season. Cypress trees marked the driveways to Italian villas from the main road. It was a forty-five-minute drive into wine country, to the countryside of Siena.
I pulled off the main road and entered a dirt path. Dust flew past me in my wake. Olive trees became more abundant as I approached the one-story farmhouse and the acreage of land that produced some of the best Italian wine I’d ever had.
I parked my car and let myself inside.
Wine tasting was being held on the outside terrace by a woman who held on to her beauty despite her middle age. I moved down the hallway to the office that I wanted, and when I stepped inside, I saw a man I didn’t recognize.
He’d been on his phone, but now he looked at me with steel-blue eyes, cloudy with suspicion and threat. He seemed to know who I was—or what I was—without asking me a single question. He slowly rose to his feet, presenting himself as a powerful man, ink marked all over his arms, a black wedding ring on his left hand. He was built like a brick shithouse, like he ate an ox every morning for breakfast then picked up a truck.
“I’m looking for Crow.”
He came around the desk and slowly approached me. “And who are you?”
“Bartholomew.”
“I asked who you are—not your name.”
This guy used to be in the game too. Must have retired once he got married. “We have a mutual friend.”
“Crow has been out of the game for decades.”