Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Anya
When my alarm goes off at seven, Saverio isn’t next to me in bed. The sound of running water comes from the bathroom. He must be having a shower after his run. I’m starting to learn his routine. His morning exercise is compulsory. He must’ve been up for an hour already, which means he never returned to bed.
The fact that he slept nothing is my fault. I kept him up with my cravings. I can’t help but feel guilty, but the wait was worth every second. I needed those tomatoes and Worcester sauce like I needed oxygen. I can’t explain it. I’ve never craved anything with such intensity. It was impossible to ignore.
I stretch and rub my eyes. It was close to six when I came back to bed. Yet despite the little sleep, I’m more rested than I’ve been since falling pregnant. It’s not only the comfortable bed and warm covers or the satisfying food that Saverio got for me. It’s much more than the absence of morning sickness and the permanent thirst that woke me several times a night. It’s feeling safe here—protected—and that’s a scary notion, because I’ll never be safe in a killer’s bed.
The scene from last night plays off in my mind, how Saverio ran into the kitchen with a gun in his hands and that look I saw on his face the night he killed Mr. Lewis. His features were set into an expression of hard, cold calculation. He rushed into the room as if he were my savior and not the man keeping me here against my will. Yes, he was protecting his own interests—his alibi—but the more I get to know him, the more I believe he’ll honor our deal to keep me safe. For a price of course, that price being my silence and my lies.
I don’t want to think about the person that makes me. I can only think about my baby now. Dwelling on my sins isn’t conducive when I have a job to do. All I have to focus on is the task at hand.
One day at a time, remember?
I sit up and throw back the covers with determination. I’m about to swing my legs over the side of the bed when the bathroom door opens and Saverio steps out in a cloud of steam with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. A whiff of his shower gel reaches my nose, something outdoorsy and fresh like mountain air and grass wet with dew.
I freeze in place, taking in the sight. It’s not the first time I see him shirtless, but with the drops of water rolling off his enormous arms and strong torso, his hardness and strength are somehow magnified. Those arms are like war weapons. The well-shaped biceps, triceps, and forearms show off his masculine power. His broad chest is chiseled, his pecs are cut to perfection, and his abs are like blocks carved from granite. The muscles running diagonally over the sides of his ribs are drawn in stark lines. Below, the deep V of his hips disappears beneath the towel. A dusting of dark hair is visible above. I’ve never seen a more perfect male specimen.
“Morning.” He flashes me a smile. “Did you sleep well again?”
My voice comes out a little hoarse. “Yes.”
“Mm.” He winks. “It seems my side is definitely the better side.”
“You didn’t get any sleep.”
“I’ll survive,” he says, dropping the towel and catching it in one hand. “It’s not the first time I forsake a good night’s rest.”
A gasp escapes my lips. I can’t believe he exposed himself as if he has no care in the world, standing in front of me wearing nothing but a small gold earring. He’s beautiful in his maleness. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, the thick dark hair that draws a triangle over his groin adding to the virility of the portrait. He’s as big as I pictured from when he pressed my palm over his length. Having a body like that should be a sin.
The muscles in his long, powerful legs bunch when he walks with a lazy stride toward the bed.
“What?” he says, the light in his steely blue eyes teasing. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Oh, but he has no idea how wrong he is. He’s in a different league.
His bicep flexes when he lifts his arm and towels his hair dry, shaking drops of water over the floor. My gaze is drawn lower, to how the act moves his cock, to how it grows hard under my stare.
Jerking my head up, I fix my gaze on his face.
His lips quirk as he lowers the towel, leaving his wet hair messy in a sexy way. “Like what you see?”
I swallow. “So much for modesty.”
“We’re living together, my love.” His grin is cocky. “You may as well know what’s in your bed.”