Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
I’m not surprised to hear the door fly open behind me. “Hey.” It’s a sharp, commanding bark.
I’m not dumb enough to keep walking. I stop, but don’t turn around.
“Where are you going?” Junior strides purposefully toward me. He’s already showered and dressed himself, looking impeccable as always in a finely tailored suit.
“Back off, bossman.” I give it right back to him. “I’m going for a walk.”
It’s not cute foreplay this time. I’m not feeling sassy, I’m downright bitchy, and he’s not amused. “Don’t speak to me that way.” It’s a low command. The kind that is certain of being obeyed.
I find myself flushing, because he really doesn’t deserve my nastiness. Not today, anyway. Still, I don’t back down. “Listen,” I tell him, hands on my hips. “I’m doing my job. I’m all in on taking care of Gio. I’m trusting you to hold up your end of the bargain and pay me and let me go when he’s up and around. But trust goes both ways. You show a little, too. I need some fresh air, so I’m taking it. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, okay?”
His mouth firms into a thin line and he stares at me for a long moment. He looks as weary today as I feel. After a moment, he tips his head in the direction I was walking, as if to say, “then go.”
I turn and flounce off, walking with long, angry strides—the kind designed to burn off frustration. I don’t look back until I’m halfway down the block, and when I do, I find Junior trailing twenty feet behind me.
Nope. No trust on his part.
He’s probably freezing his ass off without a coat, too.
I’m not going to feel bad about it. He’s the one who decided I needed to be supervised on my walk around the block.
Or three. I walk a long loop and by the time I arrive back at the house, I’m feeling more like myself. More awake. Alive. A little sassy. A little sorry.
I stop at the sidewalk leading up to his million dollar house and look back at my tail. It’s ridiculous what the sight of him does to me. The flutters in my chest at his large, fit frame, flutters in my belly over his frown.
Because I still think I’m right and don’t want to say sorry, but I also want to make nice, I wait for him. When he arrives, my body moves toward him of its own accord, and suddenly I’m leaning my forehead against his chest. It’s not quite surrender—more like beating my head against a wall.
And that wall is him.
It takes two beats before his arms lift and circle me. “You okay?” His gruff voice holds genuine concern.
I nod against his chest. “A little out of sorts.”
He rubs the back of my neck. “Me too.” He pulls me away from his chest and grips my jaw, tilting my face up. And then his lips descend on mine, his kiss a punishment—hard and claiming.
I yield to it, open my lips to let his tongue sweep in.
He starts off hard, but by the time he’s finished, his lips and tongue are in exploration, tasting me, teasing me. When he breaks it, I’ve forgotten why I was in a snit. He stares down at me. His expression is inscrutable, but his thumb strokes my cheek lightly.
“What’s your real name?” I ask, somewhat breathlessly. It’s like I need something from him—some concession, something personal.
Something stiffens in his face. “Santo.” He doesn’t like saying the name. Maybe it reminds him of his father, and the memories aren’t good.
I know he feels trapped by his father—I felt it in every word he spoke about his situation. That’s why I encouraged him to leave it all.
It had nothing to do with me trying to make him into someone I could be with long term.
Nothing at all.
I shiver and he turns me toward the house. “Let’s get some breakfast.” We head into the house and then straight through to the garage.
“My car!”
It’s there beside his beautiful Maserati. I had worried about it sitting in the hospital parking lot, but never imagined it was right here the whole time. That kind of makes escape plans more simple—not that I’m still plotting that sort of thing.
“Yeah. I wanted it somewhere safe,” Junior says. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns, ruining any appreciation I might have felt for his thoughtfulness.
He opens the door to the Maserati and reaches across me to put the keys in the ignition. “Start it up if you get cold. I’ll be right back.”
Well. That’s a sliver of trust, isn’t it? He left me with the keys in the ignition. I could totally take the car and leave.
Of course, he’d kill me.
Literally.
So he probably knows I’m not going any further than a walk around the block without his permission. And that’s why I really need to stop turning molten every time he touches me.