Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Her expression became even softer, which made her loveliness shine all the brighter.
“Ballet,” she said as if she were talking about a lover, full of devotion and adoration, and I caught myself wishing she’d use that tone when talking about me.
“And you? Do you like to dance?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees.
“Depends. I used to go to dance clubs a lot when I was younger, now not quite so much, but I suppose you wouldn’t call that dancing.” Mostly I was out with Maximus looking for easy pussy. That was definitely not something I’d mention to Greta.
She frowned, looking as if my words didn’t quite make sense. “Why would I say that? Me dancing ballet doesn’t mean I appreciate other dance styles less. If dancing in clubs is your passion, then that’s as valid as my form of dancing.”
My passion? Looking into those dark eyes, regarding me as if she was really trying to see me beyond the obvious, I knew one thing I could be really passionate about.
“I’ve never been to the ballet,” I admitted.
Greta looked sad. “You should go. It’s beautiful.”
“I can imagine,” I said roughly, imagining how Greta danced on stage. Yet, at the same time I loathed the idea of her dancing for anyone but me. What the hell was wrong with me? I was engaged. I had no business wanting Greta to dance for me. I couldn’t have her. Cressida would probably turn a blind eye to me cheating on her. She was content becoming a future Capo’s wife. But Greta wasn’t a girl who deserved to be an affair. She was a woman who deserved to be someone’s number one, their one and only queen.
She shivered again and a closer look revealed that her lips were turning bluish.
“You’re freezing, Greta. We need to do something about it.” I sat up straighter, weighing my options. “Would you feel comfortable putting your feet on my lap? I swear on my honor that I won’t touch you inappropriately in any way.”
The words left my mouth before I could process them. They just fell out, like that one biker’s glass eye when I’d slammed my ax into his head.
She wiggled her feet again, considering my lap. To think that Greta Falcone was currently staring at the spot where my dick was… “I think so,” she said slowly. She peered up, searching my eyes. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to see. Most of it was pure darkness and rage and violence, but I supposed if anyone could bear it then it was a Falcone. She shifted her body in my direction and propped those slender ankles up on my muscled thighs. Her heels loosely rested on my lap. For a moment I stared down at them. This moment felt so surreal, I briefly wondered if Nevio had actually managed to ram his knife into my body and I was caught in a strange limbo between life and death.
“Now what do we do about the rest of your body?” I mused. Suggesting she sat on my lap and let me embrace her was naturally the obvious choice but sanity hadn’t quite left me yet.
“You could give me your shirt,” she said as if it was nothing.
One of my brows edged up. “I’m not wearing anything beneath.”
“Oh,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’ll definitely be too cold for you then.”
I wondered how she’d preserved this innocence living under a roof with the Madmen of Las Vegas.
I grabbed my shirt and tugged it out of my pants, then began to unbutton it. Greta followed my movements with utmost curiosity that slowly morphed to fascination when I parted my shirt, revealing my bare chest beneath. Her eyes roamed over my pecs and abs, leaving a hot trail on my skin with her gaze alone. Blood slowly filtered down to an area it had no business going while I was alone with this girl. I shrugged out of my shirt then leaned forward and draped it carefully over Greta’s shoulders. It was way too big for her, covering her thighs too. She pulled it tighter around herself and actually drew in a breath then peered up at me with a small, lovely smile. “Thank you. Your shirt smells good.”
“It smells like me,” I said as if my brain cells had left my skull.
She didn’t comment, only huddled happily in my shirt.
I couldn’t stop staring. The realization that Greta was covered by something I’d worn moments before and would soon smell like me…fuck, it made me feel so goddamn ecstatic.
She rested her cheek on her knees and let her eyes roam my body once more, lingering on the Famiglia tattoo over my heart.
“Is that your only tattoo?”
“It is and will always be.”
Her gaze dipped lower to the fine cuts across my ribs. I touched them, wondering why these exactly had caught her eye. I had more scars on my arms, belly, and back.