Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“I couldn’t pull off pretentious if I tried.” Her jaw clenched, released. “Never received my high school diploma, remember?”
Several times over the last two weeks, she’d spoken late into the night about her captivity with Van Quiso. Though Matias had learned the details years ago, she didn’t know that. It killed him to hear the specifics of her abuse all over again, especially whispered in her soft voice, but he’d held her tightly in bed, absorbing every word, every shiver and teary-eyed glance she shared with him.
She’d also told him things he hadn’t known, like how she completed the remainder of her high school curriculum on-line and lamented the fact that she couldn’t receive a diploma since she was still considered missing.
While her tenacity never ceased to impress him, it twisted a hellacious knot in his stomach. No matter what she said in this meeting, Nico was going to challenge her.
To what end would she go to succeed in her mission?
“You’re going to wing it, then?” His chest thickened with all the things he wanted to tell her.
“I’m going to stand before him as a slave, not a politician.”
“That’s your strategy? Persuade him with your heart?”
“I know it sounds illogical. I mean, he’s the Restrepo kingpin, for fuck’s sake.” She rolled her lips between her teeth. “But he’s also a person, and people aren’t rooted in logic. We’re creatures of emotion, bristling with selfish wants, preconceptions, and brutality. But inside every man is possibility.” She lifted a stiff shoulder. “I’ll just talk to him in terms of what he wants.”
While everything she said was smart and fascinating and maybe even partly correct, it sat in his gut like a red hot coal.
He slammed to a stop. “You didn’t take that approach with me.”
“Because you already had what you wanted.” She spun toward him, with a finger hooked under the collar and resentment in her eyes.
He grabbed her throat. “This”—he squeezed the leather against her neck—“is fucking window dressing, and you know it. I want the real thing, Camila. I want your submissive soul, sighing and replete, in my hands.”
Her face paled as she gasped and clawed at his fingers around her throat. “I can’t…I won’t survive that.”
Goddammit, how could her brilliant mind get this so fucking wrong?
“Not only will you live, you’ll be more alive than you’ve ever been.” He withdrew his grip and strode up the path without waiting for her.
When he reached the stone wall of their destination, she caught up with him, arms crossed over her chest, gaze lowered, demeanor subdued. Scaring her hadn’t been his intention. Or maybe it had been. Either way, he wanted the light to return to her eyes.
He paused at a heavy wooden door, watching her closely. His hands felt sweaty, his throat parched and scratchy.
“What is this place?” Her gaze skittered along the eight-foot-high rock wall, tracing the length left to right where it faded into the jungle in both directions.
“Go ahead.” He gestured at the retinal scanner that was bolted into the stone. “This is the only entrance. The wall keeps out most of the critters, but we still have problems with monkeys and large birds.”
His pulse hammered as she leveled her eye with the security panel. He rubbed his palms on his jeans as she pushed open the door. Then he followed her in, clinging to her every movement as she gazed upon the landscape that had taken him a decade to recreate.
Her hands flew to her chest, her gait faltering mid-stride beside the first row of orange trees. Her head swung right, toward the acre that housed kumquat, tangerine, grapefruit, and lime trees.
“Holy shit.” Her mouth fell open, and her steps sped up, still unsteady but her excitement palpable.
She walked beneath the limbs, her hand reaching upward. He remained at her side, devouring the bright glow of her eyes, the tremble in her chin, and tentative way she brushed her fingers over the leaves as if she couldn’t believe they were real.
She halted suddenly, her attention directed straight ahead on the lemon grove. Her breath cut off. Then she gulped raggedly, again and again, her hand lifting to cover her mouth as the other reached out, blindly searching for his.
He caught her fingers, lacing them with his own, and inhaled the deepest, fullest breath he’d ever taken.
Four hundred flowering trees spread across the secluded five-acre grove, infusing every particle in the air with tranquil memories. There was only one scent as sweet as the fragrance of citrus blossoms, only one sight as beautiful, and she was finally here.
Her wide, unblinking eyes took in the delicate buds, the vibrant colors of the fruit, and the fertilized soil, and he knew she appreciated the labor and passion in a way that had connected them since they were small children. She appreciated his tribute to her.