Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
His jaw tightens, as does his grip on me. “No.”
“Romeo.”
I half expect him to make me call him Mr. Rossi or Sir, like this is some twisted version of a BDSM role-play thing, but he doesn’t. In fact, his eyes seem to soften a bit when I call him by name.
“Please,” I try in a softer voice.
His voice is obdurate with a gentle edge when he replies, “I said no, Vittoria, and you’ll learn that I mean what I say.”
I open my mouth to protest, but realize he isn’t joking. I mean, the man just spanked me. I don’t know what world this is, but in this world, his word is law. I don’t agree with that, but I also don’t know if now’s the time to start questioning things when I’m at a decided disadvantage.
“I don’t even know you, and yet you take liberties.”
He shakes his head. “All that matters is you’ll be my wife, and the sooner you learn your place the better.”
All that matters to him. There are two of us here.
I stare at him, half expecting him to follow this with a laugh or a wink or something to indicate he isn’t… serious. When he doesn’t, I decide this is probably where we need to start.
“Tell me, then,” I say, as if humoring him. “What does it mean to be your wife?”
His eyes warm at that. God, the guy’s hot. How can I let the guy who just punished me seem hot? I can’t help it, though. It’s like natural female instinct or something, as if being dominated by a man in authority’s inherently erotic. But there was nothing consensual or playful about that. I have a hard time understanding why I’m attracted to him despite his domineering personality, but… how could anyone not find him attractive? I’d have to be dead.
Those compelling blue-gray eyes, the firm masculine features, the confident set of his shoulders and his inherent strength make me want to know more about who he is. What drives him. What made him the man he is today.
Earlier he was clean-shaven, but now he wears a five o’clock shadow that only makes him look more rugged. The set of his chin suggests an inflexible will. So that makes two of us.
“If you were my wife,” he says, his voice growing husky as if the very concept arouses him, “I’d take care of you.” My belly warms at that. I like that. Who wouldn’t? But the knowing look in his eye tells me he expected that, he worded things just so to please me.
Doesn’t mean he’s insincere, though. I’m not surprised. He killed a man who tried to rape me. Protecting members of the female of the species might be part of his DNA. Some guys are just like that.
He’s mafia.
I try to reconcile mafia with the man sitting here with me now, dressed in impeccable clothing, the air about him something between aristocratic and nefarious. Maybe both.
“Every need, and I mean every need, would be met.” He lets the words settle. My mind doesn’t go where a normal person’s would—riches and cars, jewels and clothing, designer handbags and exotic vacations spent at resorts. No. I envision myself naked, my head thrown back in utter ecstasy, while he wrenches orgasm after orgasm from my body.
Every need would be met.
A little voice inside my head whispers, Yes. That need, too.
“Okay,” I say with a forced air of nonchalance. “You’re obviously wealthy and if I were married to you I’d be wealthy as well, so that’s almost a given.”
A wicked curve of his lips tells me he doesn’t buy my nonchalance.
Does he know I’m dirt broke? Does he know I spent more nights than I care to admit stretched out in the back of my car for a makeshift bed, and brushed my teeth in fast food parking lots?
Something tells me if he doesn’t, he soon will. I squirm uncomfortably on his lap.
“Go on,” I say, my own voice husky now. “Something tells me there’s more to it.” I clear my throat. “Isn’t there?”
“You’d be safe with me,” he says quietly, rubbing his hand down the length of my back almost soothingly. “No one would hurt you.”
“Except you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. “People would know you’re my wife, and no one would ever try to take advantage of you again.” He pauses as if he’s said too much.
Does he know what happened to me? This soon? How could he?
No, I decide. It’s just an idiomatic expression.
“Everything from the clothes you wear to the food you eat would be provided.”
Provided? Or chosen?
“You’d have a ready family here, as well.”
A rush of blood in my ears thunders so hard, I’m momentarily deafened.
Family. I’ve been without family for so long, even the concept of this crazy family is at least a little bit appealing.