Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
I let go with a shove, leaving her standing there. Trying like hell to figure out what it was going to take to get rid of this girl.
Before I killed her too.
I sat up startled, looking around my dark room, searching for the man that usually lurked in the shadows. Sadly, only getting glimpses of the empty armchair every time lightning struck, illuminating the whole room. Light and darkness took turns, over and over again, but no Martinez. The storm hadn’t let up all day, the rain was steady, and the thunder was loud. Memories of my childhood came flooding back. Snuggling up to my mom when the storms were bad. I wished I had that comfort now.
I couldn’t sleep.
I’d been tossing and turning for the last few hours unable to forget about what happened that morning. Closing my eyes, only to see two gravestones behind my lids. I never expected what he shared with me, not for one second. As much as I was relieved he was finally giving me a piece of his puzzle, I was also devastated he was using it to push me away. As if he thought he wasn’t worthy of having anyone care for him, or wanting to stick with him through the good and the bad.
It hurt my heart just thinking about him.
Reminding me that we had more in common than I could have ever imagined. When I got back to the limo, he wasn’t there waiting for me. It was only the bodyguards standing, watching my every move. All four men were still there.
He left by himself.
He shouldn’t have left on his own. Unprotected in a world where he was worth more dead than alive. The whole drive home I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen. Anxiety had taken over and the minutes felt like hours.
He never came back to the penthouse that night. We didn’t have dinner together. I hadn’t seen him since he left me standing in the cemetery with the reality of his harsh truths. I spent the whole day curled up on the couch closest to the front door. Afraid I would miss him if he unexpectedly showed up.
Waiting for him to come home.
To me.
It was around midnight by the time I picked myself up, and went to bed, hoping that maybe, just maybe he would end up in my room.
He didn’t.
I rolled over, looking at the clock on my nightstand. It read three-thirty A.M. I groaned, crossing my arms over my face. There was no way I was going to get any sleep, not until I knew he was home. I sprawled out, stretching, not realizing I had been curled up in a ball most of the night. Sheltering myself from the storm. The sheets were sticking to my anxious, overheated skin, making me burn up, even though I was just wearing a tank top and panties. Taking a deep, exaggerated breath, I untangled my body from the confining linens. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and placed my feet on the cold hardwood floor, stifling a yawn.
Before I knew it, I was at my door, turning the handle. I stepped out of my room, peering down the black hallway toward his room. The silence was deafening all around me, eerie flashes of thunder had my heart beating a mile a minute. My feet padded against the marble floor, a force pulling me to him by a chain.
A chain that only he ever held.
I was a few steps away from his bedroom when I noticed his door was ajar. He never left it open. I’d never even seen what was lying beyond the door, it was the only room in his penthouse I’d never been in. My stomach fluttered and my heart pounded with each step that brought me closer to his room, silently praying he would be in there.
Safe.
I slowly, quietly pushed the heavy wood open, gingerly stepping inside. Being careful not to make any noises in case he was in there. The room was dead silent, not even a sound of a clock to break the monotony. I knew one thing for sure, the man never slept. The events of the day must have taken a toll on him if he was sound asleep. His body physically giving up on him, when his mind was probably still reeling in his slumber. For some selfish reason the thought provided me with some comfort, that maybe he had as shitty of a day as I did. Worried about me, as much as I was worried about him.
I felt his presence before I actually saw him, his scent immediately assaulting my senses as soon as I was in the room. I stopped dead in my tracks when the full moon illuminated his latent body. He was asleep on the left side of the big king sized mattress, a massive, black wooden four-poster bed, centered on the far wall. Each post had intricately carved designs, towering up toward the ceiling. Four vast beams connected into a square up above, draped with black, sheer curtains that fell to the floor near the head of the bed. The carvings continued on the headboard that extended the height of the posts, and onto the low footboard. It reminded me of a king’s bed in medieval times.