Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
He roughly swipes his hand through his dark hair, only adding another layer to the mantle of exhaustion seeming to hang off him.
He slumps on the end of the bed, bringing the glass to his lips, and takes a long sip of his drink. If he can drink it, hopefully, I can too. Swirling the amber liquid around inside the glass, the fragrant scent of vanilla and caramel fill my nostrils. I give it a tentative sip. Well, at least it’s not scotch. A few ice cubes tinkle together as I take another gulp. After the first couple of sips burn down my throat, the bourbon becomes smooth, filling my belly with warmth. My experience is limited as I usually stick to white wine.
Nicolo sits in silence, and I take the rare opportunity to watch him. For once, he’s not crowding me, nor in motion, forcing me to get the hell out of the way. In the light, I notice that there’s a faint scar under his right earlobe that cuts into his deep five o’clock shadow. For half a second, I allow myself to think with compassion for this man in front of me, and I wonder… What happened to him?
His voice jolts me from my thoughts, shooting my heart into my throat. “I set the auction date for a couple of days from now.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, and I continue studying his profile while he talks. “You’re going to be my centerpiece. I think you’ll bring in a substantial amount of money.”
I swallow another gulp of the alcohol, letting it burn down all the way into my gut. It takes everything in me not to lash out, but what will lashing out do? It won’t help me escape. It won’t stop the warmth that fills my veins when he enters the room. It will change nothing.
Instead, I choose to act completely uninterested. “Well, if you say so. How much do you think I’m worth?” I tap my chin with my finger. “A virgin in her twenties with no interest in sex. You know, one of my high school boyfriends even called me frigid when I refused to put out for him. He called me ice queen and told me no one would ever want me.”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “I doubt your new owner will give you much choice. A wet hole is a wet hole.”
I’m half tempted to ask him how he could say such a thing, but then suddenly realize who it is that is holding me hostage.
“The least you can do is look me in the eye when you so casually describe someone raping me.”
He turns his head and stares down at my foot, still in contact with his pants. Then so very slowly, he lifts his chin. His dark gaze clashes with mine when he downs the rest of his drink. I watch the column of his throat as he swallows and the way the light dances off his long eyelashes. He’s so handsome it’s almost frightening.
He is the perfect predator, drawing you in with his beautiful eyes and charming smile. Even the tattoos and scars somehow add to the appeal. He looks dangerous, but there is something about him that twists that feeling into the need to entice him, to have him on your side. Maybe it’s the thought of having him protect me. He could… but he won’t.
When he finishes his drink, he lowers the glass to his lap, his eyes never wavering from my own. One side of his mouth tips up into a half-smile. “I’m not worried about your frigidity one bit, stellina. Like I said, a wet hole is a wet hole.”
I sip the drink to give myself more courage. There’s not enough booze in the world to give me the strength to go head-to-head with this man. “And how is that?”
He reaches down and trails his index finger over the top of my foot to my ankle. I pretend I can’t feel the jolts of his touch zinging through my body.
“When I fucked your thighs the other day, you certainly didn’t seem frigid to me.”
Oh god. I’ve tried my hardest to forget that day, even though the memory lingers in the back of my mind every night. Instead of answering, I hide my shaking hand inside the sleeve of my shirt and clutch the drink to my chest with the other.
“Nothing to say to that?” he mocks. “You talk a big game until someone calls you out on it.”
I toss back the rest of the alcohol in one huge gulp and swallow it down. It burns, but it’s exactly what I need. I stare at the few ice shards remaining before I look up at him. I don’t think about my next action. I simply act and throw the glass toward his head.