Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I know. It’ll get better.”
He didn’t reply.
When he was done, he bent and kissed my head. “Rest a bit.”
“I can’t stay here all day,” I protested, even as I snuggled under the blanket.
“You can, and you will. I’ll make us some lunch in a bit, but you’re going to rest.”
I shut my eyes, not wanting to argue. Not having the strength. He kissed my forehead again, letting out a sigh. I felt his pain with the air he exhaled. It was heavy and deep, but I wasn’t sure how to erase it. I was bruised and shaken up, but I would be fine in a few days.
He left the room, and I opened my eyes, staring after his retreating form. I wondered if I had dreamed telling him I loved him last night. I hadn’t meant to. I wasn’t even sure why the words slipped out. I hadn’t planned on telling him. But at some point, I had fallen in love with my captor. He had ceased to be that almost right away and instead became my protector, my friend, and my lover. He gave me the freedom to be me. He delighted in my quirks and encouraged my inquisitiveness. He worried about me—something I hadn’t felt my entire life. I felt so safe with him. So enveloped by him all the time. It was as if I had finally found the one thing I had sought all my life.
Dante was my home. And I was his. Somehow I knew that.
I was certain he felt something toward me beside lust. It was there in the intensity of his gaze, the way he responded to me. How he acted. How he devoured my cakes, devoured me. His touch said so much without a word.
I touched the necklace at my throat. They had taken it off in the hospital, but he had put it back on after my shower when I asked. His little bee, he called me.
I was his.
And as soon as we were through this glitch, I’d make sure he knew that.
I slept most of the day. Dante made sure I ate and drank, but I would fall asleep again quickly. He was never far away, and if he heard me get up, he was right there.
My head was clearer the next day, and I got dressed and went to the kitchen. He was there, making coffee, frowning. “You should be in bed.”
“No, I feel better.”
“You’re still taking it easy.”
I didn’t argue. It hurt to lift my arm and my face ached, but the headache was diminished and I felt more alert. We ate breakfast on the terrace, the sunshine warm on my skin.
“Did I hear Richard’s voice yesterday?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“He was here?”
“Yes. He wanted to see how you were.”
“Is there, ah, any fallout from the other night?” I asked, unsure how to form the question.
“If you mean, am I in trouble? No. I’ve had a lot of associates reach out and say they wish they had taken a swing at him. Richard saw him yesterday coming out of a building. He was walking, so my beating was obviously not too bad.”
“What if he presses charges?”
Dante sipped his coffee and shrugged. “He came at me first. And considering you were the one who ended up in the hospital, he is lucky he is breathing this morning.”
“You hit him.”
“He threatened you. He was basically telling me what he planned to do to you. I wasn’t going to let that go.”
“But—”
He stopped me with a look, standing and leaning on the table, holding my gaze. “I will defend you to my death, Little Bee. Anything that threatens to harm you will be eliminated. No matter the cost, no matter what I have to do. You come first.”
His gaze was forceful. His voice low and furious. Filled with pain. Every inch of him screamed aching and torment. I didn’t understand what was going on. What was causing him such agony.
“Dante,” I whispered.
He straightened. “Finish your breakfast.”
He strode away, his footsteps fast.
Worry set in, nagging at me.
I needed to get him to talk to me. I simply wasn’t sure how.
He seemed calmer when he reappeared. We spent a couple of quiet days in the condo. He was never far away physically, yet mentally, I had no idea where he was. I caught him looking at me more than once, his expression unguarded and saturated in despair. Then he would clear his countenance.
He was attentive and concerned. Gentle and kind.
And completely removed. His kisses were brief and perfunctory. His gaze became disconnected. As if he was shutting down.
When I woke up that morning, I was alone. In the dining room, he sat, staring out at the overcast skies. A pot of coffee sat in front of him, and weariness was etched into his skin.
“Hi,” I murmured.