Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Oops. I shake my head and wave my hand. “Oh, I dunno, a romantic stroll on the beach...”
“Liar. Thought I told you what would happen if you lie to me.” I really am shit at lying.
I clamp my mouth shut. I really need to watch my damn mouth around him. What I wanted to say was that getting well and truly cross-faded with some wine and a joint would be ideal, but some guys—especially old-fashioned, head-of-the-house types—don’t always look kindly upon things like weed.
And he’s seriously looking for a reason to put me over his knee.
“Do you smoke?” he asks, disapproval rolling off him in waves. So much for covering that up.
Lying to him is a bad idea. I dive in for the truth. He can’t get mad at what I’ve done before we met, can he?
I swallow hard. He can do anything he wants.
“Like regular old nicotine cigarettes, no. I’ve smoked weed, but not regularly and not recently.” Good thing my cheeks are already flushed pink, or I’d start all over again. Last week isn’t recently, I rationalize.
No, it’s been longer than that. Several weeks, anyway, since my smoking partner’s Mario and he’s been traveling lots.
I wait for a sign of his anger, but his natural look is so stern, it’s hard to discern a difference. “As Marialena Capo, you will smoke nothing from here on out—”
Goddamn it.
“—unless it’s with me and I give it to you.”
I nod my head but I’m still stuck on Marialena Capo.
Wait. What?
Unless he gives it to me… now that’s interesting. Okay. Makes sense. He’s a guy that won’t even eat a cannoli he hasn’t vetted, why would he let me source my own weed?
Great. Now I want a smoke.
“Got it. That’s a fair compromise.”
“Glad you agree,” he says sarcastically, reminding me that he truly doesn’t have to agree and doesn’t care if I do. “Now. I’ll order wine. Are you hungry?”
“For once in my life, no, but give me a minute.”
Not only did I feast before we came here, but my nerves are galloping through me so hard and fast I couldn’t eat now if I tried. I stifle a yawn, but he notices.
He nods. “Fair enough.”
I jump when he pushes himself off the doorframe.
“You’re skittish, like a little rabbit.”
“Well I… never have been before but… you’re kind of scary.”
“Scary?” he repeats and holds his hands up in the air. “I’m on my best behavior.”
“That doesn’t quite help your case,” I say honestly.
A casual shrug. Why does even that look sexy? “I wasn’t trying to.”
I don’t realize I’m backing up as he advances on me until my back hits the porcelain vanity. My eyes graze over the stubble on his cheeks, the hard slash of his mouth in a perpetual frown, his tanned skin. I’ve seen him move with the grace and power of a tiger, but have only ever seen him fully dressed. On the cusp of being stark naked with him, curiosity pings me.
What’s he look like under all that cumbersome clothing?
“We’re alone now, sweetheart. We have a job to do. You’re tired, and you want some wine, and I’ll grant you both wine and a nap. But this will be on my terms now. Do we understand?”
Oh, we do. I nod.
“Good girl. Then strip.”
Strip!
“Like… naked?”
A muscle tightens in his jaw. Uh oh. “You’re trying my patience, Marialena.”
I nod and swallow and stumble forward so I can do what he says. This is a normal thing, I tell myself.
He’s my husband, I tell myself.
I keep myself in good shape and all that, and there is no reason he shouldn’t like what he sees, I tell myself.
My hands still tremble on the buttons, and after I try to undress myself, I quickly realize it’s a two-person job.
“I can’t reach the buttons,” I say on a whisper, to the floor.
“Turn around, then.”
My knees tremble when I turn to face the vanity, which gives me the perfect view of a huge, oval-shaped mirror and my husband’s hungry gaze.
Frowning, intent on doing his job, he begins at the very top.
“I don’t know why wedding dresses have these ridiculous buttons,” I chatter nervously. “I mean, is it a crime to put a damn zipper in?”
I draw in a breath when he straightens and meets my gaze in the mirror. “No cursing out of my wife’s mouth.”
My jaw drops. No cursing? Good Lord, how did I marry a mafia Puritan?
I swear to God he’s making shit—crap—up now just to catch me off guard. Just to play with his authority. Just to undo me.
And is damn even really a swear? Barely.
“Not sure about you,” he says in that husky, scary voice of his. “But I like the buttons. Adds a bit to the foreplay.”
The first button slips open. The second. I’m amazed his large hands and thick fingers are so agile. When the third opens, the dress loosens at the top. I anchor my hands on the sink in front of me to keep myself steady when he lowers his mouth to my neck and kisses the skin he’s bared. I draw in a sharp breath as his tongue follows the kiss, tracing a heated line down my spine while he continues to unfasten the buttons.