Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 148612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 743(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 743(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“I can’t tell another crime family about the myth and you and me. That story is handed down father to son. If they don’t hear of it, if their father stops telling it, as many have, that’s on them. If our daughter is in an arranged marriage, we, together, will make certain it is one she will want. Whoever she is with doesn’t need to know she has the ability to go into the shadows, and you said yourself, it is possible she won’t be able to.”
“She will have the genetics to pass on, Val,” Emme said. “And if the marriage is arranged, how can she want it?”
“I meant we would never arrange a marriage with someone she didn’t want.”
Emmanuelle’s hand moved to the nape of his neck, fingers massaging the tight muscles there. She had strong fingers for being so delicate. She’d always had such a strong will. He’d loved it and detested it. Emme went his way until she didn’t, and then there was no convincing her. He had to be more careful with this second chance, yet he knew himself. He was a man who took charge and expected those around him to follow his lead—especially his woman.
“I’ll love you until the end of time, Emmanuelle, and beyond. No matter how crazy or angry you make me. Just don’t do this again. Don’t throw other men in my face. It was all I could do to give you time. I can’t do this again. We can work all this out. Just don’t do this again.”
He had wanted her to come back to him on her own. He’d hoped she would see that they were meant to be together. He had taken her choices from her at a very young age, and he’d told himself she needed time to grow in confidence, to learn who she was. Between her brothers and him, and that mother of hers, Emme had to fight just to stand on her own. He wanted to give her that chance. But there was Elie Archambault. He’d never wanted to kill a man more.
Valentino had kept eyes on Emmanuelle at all times, even when she disappeared out of the country—and that hadn’t always been easy. She would take her family’s private jet and go, supposedly to see relatives to have a vacation, to have fun shopping, or skiing, or whatever the hell she was pretending to do. He knew it was none of those things. When she came home, she was always with Elie again, and it seemed the only time she smiled anymore was when she was with him.
If Emme had fucked Elie, Val knew he couldn’t have stopped himself from killing the man. Nothing would have stopped him. Nothing. She hadn’t. The two had the strangest relationship. They were close. Very close. Almost inseparable. That hurt. She gave Elie her friendship. Her laughter. When they went clubbing and the man danced with her, Val watched the videos of the two of them endlessly, and it was pure torture.
“You thought you were giving me time?”
“I know I was. I know you thought it was something else, but for me, it was giving you time you needed on your own. I watched over you in case Miceli or my cousins went after you. I know they thought about it a time or two. Had they done so, the war would have started a lot sooner.”
He pressed kisses up the right side of her rib cage, along each rib, careful of any bruising. He wanted to make love to her, a slow, burning assault on both of their senses, not the fast, dominant fuck he’d taken that had sent both of them into such a sexual frenzy. He’d been away from her for so long he’d needed to get that out of the way. Now they both needed something else, something that defined the way they felt toward each other.
“Dario said you told him not to call me.”
He lapped at the little indentations between her ribs that took him underneath the swell of her right breast. He kissed and sucked gently, nibbling his way around her full mound, wishing she wasn’t so bruised. There was little space to leave anything of himself, or anywhere he could pleasure her. She liked breast play, and the son of a bitch who had punched her had taken that from her.
Val transferred his attention to the left side of her rib cage and took his time before answering her, pressing kisses and flicks and licks along those little indentations. “I did say that to him,” he confirmed.
“You knew he would ignore you.” Her breath hitched as he reached under her left breast and gently repeated his actions, kissing his way up and over the purple-black mound to her nipple. He used his tongue first and then oh-so-tenderly drew her into the warmth of his mouth. He took care not to constrict around her sore nipple, just let his heat surround her for a moment before he let her go.