Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
The one who became a symbol of everything I had to be angry for. Except she was a shimmering, shiny symbol. Something I had to attain, capture, and keep.
The sensual, enigmatic beauty of the ball.
The prize.
My prize. What I actually deserved, that evening of her ball and now.
No, maybe not now. Because I haven’t earned her affection yet. I fought unfairly, and I won.
Now it may be time to actually court my wife. To find out what makes her tick. How to make her smile, laugh, sing.
And–ah God–her voice! Like an angel’s.
After hearing her sing last night, I feel I’ve glimpsed the real Dahlia. The vulnerable, talented artist who was never allowed to express her gifts.
It made me want to wring her parents’ necks.
And now I’m determined to make sure she gets to do everything she dreamed of doing.
Which is why I choose a festive open-air restaurant with a lively band singing contemporary English pop music instead of the more expensive fine dining Dahlia would be accustomed to.
American tourists sit under palapas, sucking down fruity cocktails.
I watch as curiosity overtakes Dahlia’s tension. She watches the band and the happy, drunken tourists around us as our waiter takes our drink order.
She sucks down a banana daiquiri, and I order her another. Her mood lightens considerably. While we eat a simple but delicious fish dinner, she rolls her shoulders a little then nods her head to the music, smiling at the band.
“They’re good, no?” I ask.
“So good.”
“Do you sing this kind of music? Or only opera?”
“I love this kind of music. I sing everything. If I could’ve done anything, I would’ve been a Broadway musical star.”
My heart.
She has the talent for it, too. What a shame her parents didn’t support her dreams.
When she excuses herself to the restroom after dinner, I send one of my men to keep an eye on her, and I speak to the lead singer.
People are up dancing now, some sloppy drunk, others with more class. I take Dahlia’s hand when she returns and lead her to the dance floor. Her heart beats quickly at her throat.
She’s excited. To dance with me?
It occurs to me this girl has probably lived her life in a deficit of fun. Of letting loose. Letting go. We dance a few songs, and I order her another drink but keep her on the dance floor. We dance until her face is flushed and her eyes are bright.
Then I lead her up onto the stage and tell the lead singer she’s going to perform with them.
“What? No!” Dahlia tries to pivot and retreat, but I gently nudge her forward.
“She’s an incredible singer,” I explain. “Tell them what to play, bella, and they’ll play it.” I slipped the lead singer a tip earlier to make sure he treats her right.
“Um…” Dahlia flicks a glance at me, and I wink. “Can you play ‘Be My Baby’?”
The band strikes up the music, and Dahlia takes the microphone that the lead singer offers her. She sings.
Ten songs later, the place is rocking, and Dahlia’s the new star. I maintain a position below the stage, just in front of her. Her biggest fan and her keeper.
I ensure she’s supplied with water and daiquiris, and I drink in her talent. Her presence. Her poise. Her charisma.
She could be a star. Should already be one.
She’s incredible.
When she starts to slur and sway on her feet, I catch her hand and tug her off the stage and into my arms in a honeymoon carry.
“Let’s go back to the yacht, amore.”
She loops her arms around my neck and kisses my temple. “That was fun.”
“Was it?”
“Thank you.”
She sounds sincere, and it does something funny to my chest. Twists and tugs it.
“I take care of what’s mine,” I tell her.
She bites my ear. “So I’m yours?” She slides her tongue around the shell of my ear.
My dick gets rock hard.
“You’re definitely mine.”
If I were a real gentleman, I would not take advantage of her alcohol and fun-induced affection.
But I’m not a gentleman, and she’s my wife.
I’ve been blue-balled for three days now. I am dastardly enough to press my advantage. If I can seduce her now and gain her consent, nothing will stop me from fully claiming my wife.
“Why do you even want me?” she asks drunkenly. “I’m the daughter of your enemy. Shouldn’t you be repulsed by me?”
“Repulsed?” I give a mirthless laugh. “Hardly.” I carry her into the tender and settle her on my lap for the short boat ride to the yacht. “You forget how I made him my enemy.”
Her breasts are at eye level. I open my mouth and bite through the fabric of her dress.
She mewls and squirms on my lap. I narrow my bite and zero in on her nipple, nipping it through her clothing.
“You were attracted to me.” She says it with a tinge of wonder, like it hadn’t occurred to her.