Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
When I didn’t attempt to make a move against him, he dropped an approving kiss on the tip of my nose before releasing me. I watched him as he turned on the tap and plugged the tub, allowing it to begin to fill its considerable depth with warm water.
He straightened, and I tensed, bracing myself for his renewed touch.
But he didn’t approach me. Instead, he loosened his tie, shooting me a wicked grin.
“You’re welcome to look, kitten. I know you like what you see.”
My cheeks burned, and I dropped my gaze to the tiled floor, studying the meaningless patterns in the marble.
He chuckled. “You didn’t used to be such a prude. I distinctly remember a time when you were quite enthusiastic about getting me undressed.”
“That was a mistake,” I asserted, but I couldn’t muster up any venom.
“Yes, you mentioned that before. You also said you paid for the mistake. Do you want to tell me what you meant by that? Was your pride permanently bruised, or did something else happen?” His tone was light and conversational, belying his incisive questions.
My shoulders slumped, and I hugged my arms around my middle. He’d dragged me into an achingly vulnerable state, but I retained the presence of mind to evade his inquiry. I couldn’t tell him about Miguel. That would give him far too much power over me; he would know how shamefully weak I truly was.
“I regret that night with you,” I managed a truthful response without revealing my darkest secrets.
“That’s unfortunate,” he remarked, as though my feelings on the matter were of little consequence to him.
Suddenly, he was in my personal space, his masculine scent invading my senses and drawing illicit responses from my erogenous zones.
His fingers curled beneath my chin, lifting my face so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “I am sorry for that.” If I didn’t already know that he was incapable of empathy, I would have said his eyes were earnest. “I didn’t expect that night to end the way it did.”
“It went exactly the way you intended,” I countered bitterly. “You seduced me, and I blabbed my brother’s secrets. Information that you used to strike against him and tear our organization in two. Your position of power was built on those secrets. The success of your rebellion was my fault. Don’t insult me with lies about regretting what you did.”
“I don’t regret overthrowing your bother,” he answered evenly. “But I didn’t expect to like you so much. If you suffered because of my actions, I am sorry for that.”
A hollow laugh left my chest. “You’ve never been sorry for anything. You’re not capable of remorse.”
He cocked his head at me. “Before that night, I would have agreed with you. I’m not sure what remorse feels like. But I do know that I’ve never been able to replicate the intensity of fucking you. For years, I have regretted leaving you behind.”
I pushed at his granite chest, a shadowy display of anger. “You’re not sorry at all for anything I might have suffered as a result of your betrayal. You’re only sorry that you haven’t had a satisfying fuck since you fucked me over. Apparently, you can only get your rocks off if you’re destroying my life.”
“No.” He frowned down at me, his eyes searching my face as though he was looking for an answer to a particularly difficult puzzle. “No, that’s not it. I don’t like the idea of you suffering because of my actions.”
“You don’t like it?” I asked, incredulous. The way he spoke about the horrors I’d faced in the fallout of his deception made it sound as though he was more concerned with putting his finger on exactly why he gave a shit.
He shrugged. “No, I don’t like it. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You’re mine now, and no one will dare to harm you.”
“Fuck you,” I mumbled, unable to muster up a coherent argument. His lack of empathy was staggering, defying any form of reasoning. For years, I’d known that Stefano Duarte wasn’t fully human, that he wasn’t sane. But understanding that as a concept was far less debilitating than being confronted with it directly.
I prided myself on being a shrewd strategist, but how could I plot against a man with no true weaknesses? I’d been arrogant and ignorant in the extreme in my plotting this morning, thinking I’d identified his vulnerabilities. But he had none. A man who didn’t truly care about anything couldn’t be manipulated.
The bastard laughed, caressing my cheek as though my insult delighted him.
“I don’t think you mean that,” he teased. “You don’t want to fuck me. Not yet.”
His fingers started working at the buttons on the shirt that covered me. I shifted, attempting to push him away. He smacked the back of my hand and made a soft rumble of disapproval.