Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I find a quaint little bakery around the corner. The older man behind the counter is in the middle of helping another customer––a man with short dark hair wearing black joggers and a white tee. I don't mind waiting, it gives me a moment to scan the offerings and prepare my slowly growing Italian vocabulary.
"Grazi," the man says. His voice has a smooth quality that makes me perk up. Then he turns, letting me see his sharp cheekbones and angled jaw. His very very blue eyes. He scans me with them, saying with his smirk Yes, I know I'm handsome, and I'm used to being stared at. He pauses to give me a second, longer look, as if he likes what he sees.
I have no interest in flirting with this man. Marco is probably still asleep back at the hotel, his muscled arm resting on top of the sheet. A little shiver passes through me thinking of returning to him, and at his face when I tell him I’ve brought breakfast. No, I have no interest in flirting with this admittedly handsome man at the bakery, because I have an even more handsome, attentive, and generous man waiting for me.
"Excuse me," I say to the baker. He nods as I lean over the glass counter full of treats. "Posso averne due..." I point at the glossy, curved pastries. "Cornettos? And, um, due caffè."
He grins indulgently. "Sei euros." I guess I did okay.
I pay him, then take the bag of pastries and the small tray with two paper cups of hot coffee. I'm so proud of myself I nearly walk into the man waiting for me just outside the bakery. "Buying breakfast for two?" he asks. "How romantic."
"It is," I agree, hurrying to walk towards the hotel. To my surprise the guy follows. "He's expecting me back soon, in fact."
"Don't get the wrong idea," the stranger snorts. "I'm not stalking you with some kidnapping plan."
My mind races back to the men in the alley. Is this guy with them? Is he pissed that Marco kicked his friends' asses?
My skirt swishes loudly in the quiet street as I increase my pace and stare straight ahead. Stay calm. It's okay. The serenity of the empty streets feels sinister now. I see the hotel, my breath coming fast and hot. It's still cool out but my skin is clammy.
The man is on my heels.
Bursting through the front door of the hotel, I feel his heavy shadow on me. My panic explodes; I whirl, screaming at him, hoping to make enough noise that the clerk hears me before I'm smuggled away by this scary man.
He gasps as my hot coffee splashes onto his joggers. "What the hell!" he roars.
"Get away from me!" I shout, dropping the tray, chucking the bag of pastries. They bounce off his chest. He stands there with his arms held at his sides, his face a mixture of shock and rage.
I pant heavily. I won't go down without a fight. I won't--
"Filia?"
I spin with hope in my heart. He's standing by the elevator. "Marco! Help!" I'm safe now. Thank god.
"Help?" he asks warily. His eyes travel past me; they narrow on the man in the entryway. I brace myself for how he'll launch forward and beat my would-be-assaulter into a mushy mess. But a moment passes and there’s no mush to speak of. "Derek?"
I blink. Why does Marco know the kidnapper’s name? "Derek?"
"Hey, Marco," the other man says. He groans, glaring at me as he wipes at the coffee stains. "What a nice way to say good morning."
"I don't understand," I say, looking between them. "You know each other?"
"Unfortunately," Marco says grimly. He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Filia, meet my older brother."
Chapter Eight
"You've been avoiding me," Derek accuses, brushing past me until he's toe to toe with Marco.
"I haven't." Marco replies.
"We agreed to get together two days ago," Derek says. He jerks a finger at me. "This what you've been doing instead? Banging her?"
"Relax, Derek," Marco says.
"You love to act like you're the one taking our business seriously. I guess even the high and mighty like to get their hands dirty when they think no one will see." He whirls on me, the cruelty in his sneer making me take a step back. "So, what about my brother do you love more? His piles of money or his big dick?"
"Excuse me?" I gasp.
"Derek," Marco snarls.
Laughing rudely, Derek advances on me. "Sorry, sorry. It's just all I hear the ladies talking about when I’m forced to attend these horrendous shareholder meets and have no choice but to be in my brother's vicinity."
I don't back away this time, instead I clench my hands and lean closer to Derek––he blinks, surprised. "You don't even know my name. How dare you talk to me like that. If he didn't say it was the case, I'd never guess you were related to Marco."