Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“I’ve never seen her come by the house before. Do you see her often?”
He kept his gaze averted. “No.”
“Why? Does she live somewhere else?”
He turned back to me, hostility in his gaze. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Just curious… You know everything about me.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’m not asking to be nosy. I just like talking to you.” It was easy to look past his rough edges when I knew how good he was underneath. He was protective and honest, the kind of qualities any woman would want in a man. When he let his walls come down, he was irresistible.
“She’s here in Florence—but she’s in rehab.” He watched my gaze and studied my reaction.
It was hard to stay stoic when the information was so surprising. “Oh…I’m sorry.” I’d never dealt with addiction or knew anyone with a problem. But I saw Maverick drink like he could easily be addicted himself.
“She and my mother were really close. It wasn’t just her death that devastated her. It was also how she died…it really disturbed my sister. She quickly slid into drinking. When she developed a tolerance for that, she moved on to something stronger…and just slipped away. My father made it worse and pushed her to her breaking point. To this day, he’s never visited her in rehab. He’s never even talked to her about it…just disowned her. Apparently, it’s too hard to pick up the phone and check on your own fucking daughter.” Bitterness exploded out of his mouth like a burst of flame. “So, now it’s just the two of us…and I have to be what she needs.”
He seemed to take care of everyone around him, including me. But who took care of him? “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m all she’s got.” He looked away again, his eyes filled with sad thoughts. “This is why I prefer fucking instead of talking. Nothing good ever comes from talking.” His eyes shifted back to mine, a little darker than before.
My hand slid to his arm, my fingertips gently sliding over the mounds of muscle. “That’s too bad…because I like talking to you.” I slid my body closer to his and hooked my leg over his hip, bringing our faces just inches apart. My hand slid into the hair at the back of his neck, and my fingers caressed the soft strands. The instant I started to touch him this way, he relaxed a bit. It seemed to be his favorite spot, his weakness.
His eyes stayed on mine, a little less hostile than before. His hand rested on my thigh and slowly slid up to my ass, his large fingers warm to the touch. When he reached my thong, he gently tugged on the lace, like he wanted to pull it off.
When I came to his bedroom, sex wasn’t the biggest issue on my mind. When he had been seriously injured, we lay in bed and watched movies all day, forced to cuddle and talk. That’s what I wanted the most from him, to have that kind of relationship. After I’d pissed him off, it disappeared. Slowly, it began to rebuild, his anger fading away.
I wanted to look in those beautiful eyes forever, but the comfort started to soften me, started to make me slip away. My eyes closed and my fingers halted in his hair, locked around the strands I loved to play with. This house was an impenetrable fortress, but I never felt as safe as I did when I was by his side.
It only took me a minute to drift off to that moment between consciousness and sleep. I was on the edge, about to tip over and fall into the abyss. That was when I felt Maverick’s movements. He pulled the sheets down and over my body, spreading them on top of me and tucking me in. Then I heard the click of the bedside lamp as he turned off the light. His body returned to mine, and he lay in the same position as before, tugging my leg over his hip.
Then he let me sleep.
4
Maverick
I pulled through the open gates and approached the two-story castle. Just like my estate, my father’s place was situated in the countryside, still living in the same home he’d shared with my mother.
Sometimes I worried it was poisoning his mind. Her ghost haunted the hallways. Her presence in the walls and furniture constantly reminded him of what he’d lost. He turned his injured mind into a madhouse.
Just as I stepped out of the car, he strode out the house. Summer was over, and fall was subtly rolling in. A night like this would still have been filled with heat just a month ago, but now it had touches of coolness. He wore a black jacket over his collared shirt, his dark hair matching his mood.