Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” she replies. “That’s always been the point. I’ve never loved anybody, but I enjoy love songs. So I write them about the emotion itself. The love, not the person.”
Maybe that will change when we fall in love, I almost say, but this is already complicated enough.
“The alibi will work,” I say, “as long as you can sing in front of Mom and Dad.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t even think I’d be able to sing in front of you. With Mom’s life at risk…” She lets out a long, shaky breath. “I can do it. I have to.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” I tell her, then lean over and kiss her again.
She makes that cute moaning noise, half shock, half desire. When I start losing control—one hand sliding up her leg, the other around her waist—she puts her hand on my chest. When she pushes away, I can tell it takes some effort.
“We have to keep moving,” she says. “I can’t just leave Mom out there.”
“You’re right,” I say.
Yet it’s so damn difficult. It would be far better to drive to the nearest five-star hotel, get a suite, lay her down on a four-poster bed, and strip her clothes off. Then I’d fall to my knees and start kissing up her thigh, tempted by her soaked, tangy slit. I’d lick her clit first, then…
Focus. I drive onto the road, focusing on the simple mechanics of driving, nothing else. If I let my mind wander, I’ll start obsessing over my woman. I won’t be able to stop. Her angel’s voice. Her steamy body. Her everything.
Getting to Mom and Dad’s apartment doesn’t take much longer. One of our men, Matteo, wanders over to my car when he sees me pull up. Though my parents live on the top floor and have additional security up there, there’s always a Family man working as the doorman.
“Late night, boss,” he says, his eyes narrowing when he sees Scarlet. He knows better than to say anything, of course, but seeing me with a woman must be strange. As far as the men know, I’m a forever bachelor.
“Open the underground garage,” I tell him, “and Matteo, you didn’t see my friend here.”
“Of course.”
“Matteo’s one of my father’s most trusted men,” I tell Scarlet. “He won’t say anything to anybody. None of my father’s men will. Even so, we need to think of a fake name.”
She wraps her arms around herself. This must be what love feels like. Every single one of her gestures and tics makes me crazy. I could spend hours simply watching her, dissecting every single movement.
“Any ideas?” she asks.
“You have the voice of an angel,” I say. “How about Angela?”
She smiles. It’s shaky, a little unsure, but it’s better than the fear that could justifiably coat every one of her features. I can see the fear in her, but she’s keeping it buried, pushed down. “That works.”
Once the underground garage opens, I drive inside, parking in the corner near the private elevator. Climbing from the car, I try to walk around to Scarlet’s side and be a gentleman, but she’s already sprung out, shifting from foot to foot, seeming full of energy despite the time. She looks around the parking lot at the sports cars, the gleaming jeeps, and the limo.
“Are these all yours?” she asks.
“That one is,” I say, gesturing to the Bugatti. “The rest are my father’s. Or they were.”
“Were?”
“They still are,” I say. “It’s just… well…”
“It’s okay.” She places her hand on mine, giving it a warm squeeze of support. “I guess he doesn’t do much driving anymore.”
“Exactly,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the elevator. Once we’re inside, it takes everything I have not to press her against the wall, wrap my arms around her, and indulge in her. My dick is still aching from how close we almost got to real steaminess.
The elevator doors open. A bleary-eyed Sebastian greets us with a confused smile. He’s been the butler since I was a teenager—a tall, thin man with a shock of white hair and a unique shade to his eyes, a blue that’s almost purple in certain lights.
“Master Marino,” he says.
“Prepare a room for my friend, please,” I say. “I’ll explain the situation to Mom and Dad in the morning.”
“Quite right, sir.”
“Is he a butler?” Scarlet whispers once he’s gone, her voice full of awe.
I smirk, taking her hand and nodding. She looks at the tall walls and the framed artwork. It must be a big contrast to her place. If it wasn’t for the situation with her mom, I bet she’d be asking many questions, but I can tell she feels guilty even contemplating doing anything but worry.
In the living room, she looks around again at the vaulted ceiling, the chandelier, and Dad’s large bookcases. “Would you like anything to drink?” I ask.