Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 53764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
He watched her from across the table as if they were the only two people in the world. She had his sole attention and it was unnerving. "What do you like so much about it?" he questioned as he glanced around the room and then back to her.
"Oh--everything. I love the aged wood--the stone hearth," her eyes slid around the room and she continued, "the textures--the brocade of these chairs, the bronze fixtures--just the whole warmth of the room. It's so--so peaceful." Her eyes landed back on him and her lips curved into a tiny smile. "Yes. Peaceful."
Marco watched Natalie from across the table and the thought that she was peaceful came to his mind. He'd never really thought of her as such--other descriptive words came to mind when he was with her--and when he was not. Sexy, beautiful--totally fuckable. But peaceful? But that's what she was. When he was with her, or when he thought about her waiting for him in his penthouse, he admitted to himself that he usually felt only a few things. Extreme horniness, extreme satisfaction, or extreme peace.
He lifted her fingers from her wineglass before her fidgeting caused a mess. He entwined them with his and looked around the room again before coming back to study her as realization hit him. "You don't like the penthouse." It was a statement--not a question.
A blush stole over cheeks and she averted her eyes from his. "It's fine," she said softly.
"Holy shit. You actually hate it. Why didn't you say anything?"
"It's your home, Marco, not mine. And I don't like to be rude--or hurt your feelings."
His mouth flattened. "It's your home, Natalie. And why would it hurt my feelings? I didn't have anything to do with the--" He paused as if searching for an unknown term and she broke in.
"Decor?"
"Right. Decor. All I did was ask Joy to call a company. The penthouse is just some place I sleep--" He frowned and then continued, "or it used to be."
"It's fine, Marco," she soothed.
His teeth gritted and he was about to begin arguing when he looked over her head and saw Mathew Kennedy approaching the table. Mathew fucking Kennedy. The only place where his business world crossed his debauched past, goddamn Mathew Kennedy and his slut of a wife. His evening was about to go to shit.
Natalie saw the expression that came across Marco's face and almost felt sorry for whoever or whatever had put that look in his eyes. She watched as his gaze became pointed, his jaw clenched, and ropes of tension bracketed his mouth.
His reaction fled her mind when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and a large body loomed up next to hers. She jerked her head around to face the newcomer just as she saw Marco rise from his seat and throw his napkin on the table.
Mathew Kennedy stood beside her, squeezing her shoulder. Panic assailed her--not from the hand on her shoulder, but from Marco--standing to his feet and looking as if he was preparing to go in for the kill.
Whatever Marco was about to do or say was abbreviated when a middle-aged woman, dressed to kill, strolled past Mathew Kennedy and rested her hand on Marco's lapel.
"Marco, sweetie--why the glum look? Aren't you glad to see us?"
Natalie felt bile rise up in her throat, both from the sickening caressing touch still on her shoulder and from the familiarity of the woman's hand on Marco. Confusion and nausea filled her senses and she sat in her chair, unable to move as paralysis seemed to take over her body.
"Nora." Marco's tone was short--totally pissed as he reached down and took the woman's hand from his person and let it drop. "Since you're here with your husband and because I like to think I'm a reasonable man, I'm going to give you the opportunity for this encounter to end--verbally, if you will. You've got three seconds to convince him to release her or you'll be taking him out of here in an ambulance--or a hearse."
Natalie sucked in a breath and stiffened even more when a waiter appeared at their side just as the woman, who she now knew to be Nora Kennedy, put a restraining arm on her husband. "Mathew, darling, let go, sweetheart, we won't be playing tonight."
"Is there a problem?" The waiter, approximately six feet tall and athletically built, interjected.
Natalie held herself completely still and waited to see how this would play out. She was feeling physically sick. And about to faint, when finally, the hand was lifted from her shoulder.
Mathew Kennedy's voice boomed out. "No problem, no problem. We were just about to get a table, weren't we, hon? Good to see you, Marco." Natalie felt his chilling eyes turn to her. "Natalie."
They both turned to go, Marco pulled a bill off a wad of cash and handed it the waiter. "That should cover it. Not your fault."