Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Isabella
My new husband kisses me.
I let him.
It feels good to just let everything go for a little while, to relax and enjoy this. My eyes flutter closed, and his hand comes to the back of my neck. I’m not the type of girl who surrenders easily, but knowing what we have to do and who we are—I lean into this.
When we pull away, I’m all kinds of aroused, and I’m not the only one. “You’re beautiful. There’s something crazy that lights a fire in your eyes.”
I grin at him and wink. “Takes one to know one. Now do I get the grand tour or what?”
“Let’s settle for the mini tour. I just want to find our room and put our bags away for now.”
“Yeah, I need a shower after all that.”
“Bed would be nice.”
I look around. It is fucking beautiful here. I feel like someone handed me a glossy pamphlet at a travel agency, and I stepped right into the picture. I've never seen anything like this in my life.
Granted, I've never really been on vacation before, but God, we fucking earned this.
I reach for my bag, and Lev grunts and takes it out of my hand.
I frown at him. “Dude, you don't think I can carry my own bag?"
"Isabella," he says in a growl that makes my nipples hard.
Excellent. My new husband has the ability to turn me on with his voice. I guess that's his superpower.
“It’s not a question of if you can. Jesus, let me carry my wife’s bag.”
“Alright, alright.”
I give him a sidelong look as we head down toward the hall to where our room is marked on the map.
We have to have sex, that I know for sure. He mentioned something about a rivalry between him and his brothers having babies and whatnot as if they need to repopulate all of New York with virile Romanov genes. And logic tells me that sex is the way to get there.
While I'm not too thrilled with the idea of giving birth to children anytime soon, I wouldn't mind a few practice sessions.
Also, this is the God’s honest truth… He is hot. Like next level, light up my uterus, can I sit on your face, sir, hot.
I may have thought about being chained up in his basement more than a few times. And the way we harmonized on that helicopter—it was seamless. Beautiful. Thrilling.
We walk down the hallway. I would think it would feel odd to be in a vacant resort, like there are ghosts around here or something, but it doesn't feel odd at all. It feels kind of nice.
I like being alone with him.
"Are you hungry?" he asks. Our footsteps are noiseless on the thick carpet. They’ve obviously prepared for our arrival, as I can still see faint lines from the vacuum in front of us.
"Not really. You?"
"No. Shit. I just remembered we left the cake on the helicopter."
I shrug my shoulders. "Meh, I don't eat cake. It's fine. It was a nice gesture and all, but I’m sweet enough without the extra carbs.”
“Sure you are,” he snorts.
“And anyway,” I say, watching his reaction. “I just married my enemy, so it's really no cause for celebration.”
“Mmm. Good point. Honestly, this villa is pretty much like a prison. Looks just like one. You may as well be shackled in my basement still."
Why does that only make me want him more? I’m thirsty. Yes. I’m so fucking thirsty, and here I am, striding down a hallway toward the bedroom with New York’s ultimate thirst trap.
I swallow hard and try to look away, but I can't help admiring him. Dressed all in black, the defined muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge with the effort of carrying our bags, but he doesn't hunch over. His body is a masterpiece of masculine perfection, and I am so fucking here for it.
I don't have to fight him anymore. I don't have to hide from him. I need to convince him to partner with me. I need to convince him to jam together the well-oiled machine of his family and mine… and then make it all work.
I can do this. I must do this. I have no other choice.
“According to the map… this is ours.”
I turn the handle, and the door opens. I stifle a gasp. "Dios mío. This is beautiful." The honeymoon suite at the island villa is a dream. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the ocean, so brilliantly blue it reminds me of an aquamarine necklace my mother used to wear. Waves kiss the shore. Sheer white curtains billow with the ocean breeze. A plush, king-sized bed made in crisp white linens stands in the center, a tray on the bedside table welcoming us with rose petals in the shape of a heart surrounding a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver bucket, two crystal flutes beside it.