Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
As she slips out of the doors with me, I glance back at the man in question. The prick is still too wrapped up in his own bullshit to even notice that his world just started to crumble.
Chapter Two
Karina
What am I doing?
The question bounces against the inside of my skull as I follow Coda Passero out of the ballroom, his fingers laced with mine. We leave my father and everyone I know in our wake. I feel dozens of eyes on us, but I don't look back. I don't stop walking either. Not even when my legs shake.
I don't know who this beautiful man is, but I can't keep my eyes off of him. He's a fortress, his body chiseled from stone. The muscles lining his back bunch and shift with every step, visible even through the fabric of his expensive suit. Despite his overwhelming size, he moves with a lethal elegance that's captivating.
How can one man command so much power?
My father's warnings about not trusting anyone, especially men like Coda Passero, echo in my mind. According to him, men like Coda are ruthless, cunning…consumed by their need for power and control. Yet, it's that same raw, unapologetic dominance that compels me toward him like a moth drawn fatally to a flame.
There's a dark magnetism about him that I find irresistible. He's not like anyone I've ever met before, not even close. I'm not sure there's another man like him in all of Chicago.
I expect him to lead me toward the doors of the hotel, but he doesn't. He cuts left and leads me to the bank of elevators nestled in an alcove.
We wait in silence, his eyes locked on me. I'm trapped in their depths, fascinated by the mystery they hold. There's so much flickering there, yet I can't read any it.
Who is he?
Not a cop. Not a fan of my father, either. That doesn't tell me much. My father doesn't have many fans left in Chicago. He's been a cop since he was my age. He's made a lot of enemies in that time. And they aren't all men he's put behind bars.
I think Coda is one of those—an enemy he made without ever locking cuffs around his wrists. I just don't know why or how. My father…well, there's a lot I don't know about the things he does.
Growing up, I always thought he was a hero. Cops are supposed to be the good guys, right? It wasn't until a few years ago that I realized that's not always true. Heroes can disappoint you, too. They're just as human as the rest of us. Sometimes, they're worse.
I'm not sure if my dad is worse or if he's just human. I haven't figured that part out yet. But I know he's not a saint. I know the world isn't black and white. There's good and evil and a whole lot of complicated shit in between.
I'm still trying to figure out which my father is.
The doors of an elevator slide open.
"It's not too late to change your mind." Coda's dark voice says he thinks I should.
"I'm not changing my mind."
His sinful smile says he's glad I didn't as he places his hand on the small of my back, helping me onto the elevator. The weight of his hand sends jolts of electricity shooting straight to my core. Every time he touches me, I feel the same magnetic pull, the same overwhelming crush of desire.
God. It's incredible.
The doors whisper closed, shrouding us in silence again. There isn't even any elevator music.
He jabs the button for the 30th floor. As soon as he does, the elevator lurches into life, a slight tremor shaking the mirrored walls.
I see us there, our bodies in startling juxtaposition—black suit against scarlet dress, dark enigma against innocent sunflower. We're opposite poles of the same burning desire.
He spins toward me suddenly, like a predator snapping his attention onto prey. Except…I want to be hunted. I want to be consumed.
God, yes.
My heart hammers as he grips my waist, hoisting me up until I'm flush against the smooth chrome wall. Trapped between it and his hard body.
His mouth descends on mine. His kiss is an indisputable claim, a ruthless exploration that leaves me breathless and whimpering for more. It's demanding yet gentle, an inferno that sears my lips and soothes the raw edges of the desire churning through me.
His hands roam over my curves, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch is the best of both worlds—possessive and reverential—as if he can't decide whether he wants to devour or worship me.
I've never even been kissed before tonight, and he's defying every expectation I've ever had. There's no way anyone else will ever measure up to this.
I gasp as he trails hot kisses down my throat, his teeth grazing against my flesh. Every touch sends shockwaves rippling through me.