Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“I appreciate that. I’m okay, though. I think I just need some more coffee,” I said, shaking my head.
“Okay. But don’t take on too much. We love you here. We don’t want you to burn out,” she said, giving me a pat on the shoulder, then moving out of the barn.
I tried to power through for a few more minutes before I started to believe my lie about needing more coffee, and got up to go get myself some.
“Miss Pearson,” a voice called, making me stiffen and whip around so fast that my vision swam for a second.
And there he was.
Matteo.
Looking a little more dark and dangerous in his black sweater and black jeans.
There was a strange fluttering sensation in my lower stomach that I tried really hard to convince myself was absolutely anything other than what I knew it was.
Attraction.
For a man who’d kidnapped me. And we weren’t even going to talk about the murder.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Yeah?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as airless to him as it did to me.
“May I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked, moving inward, leaving me to follow behind like an obedient puppy.
My stomach managed to twist into a dozen knots by the time I moved inside.
“Close the door please,” he demanded as he walked behind his desk.
I had a moment of irrational fear that he might kill me before I reminded myself that the office was full, that there was no way he was going to shoot or strangle me and risk someone seeing my body.
So I closed the door and moved inside.
But only a foot or two.
Matteo’s gaze moved over me for a moment, making me acutely aware of the way my black pencil skirt hugged my thighs, hips, and ass. I’d paired it with a simple white button-up shirt that I’d tucked in and a pair of black kitten heels. It was the sexy side of professional, but we worked in the kind of place where external presentation mattered, so I figured it was okay not to drown my body in boxy suits all the time.
And then he was suddenly moving toward me.
I was so fixated on the strange, heated look in his eyes that I missed the fact that he was holding something in his hand.
It wasn’t until he got right in front of me and reached for my hand, sliding his palm under the back of my hand and lifting it up, then dropping a stack of cash in my palm with his other one that I noticed it was even there.
“As we’ve agreed upon,” he said, curling my fingers over the cash.
But he didn’t release me.
No.
His hand stayed there, wrapped around mine. Warm. Strong. Oddly reassuring.
That was the same hand that had held the gun that he’d used to take a man’s life. The last thing I should have been feeling right then when it was touching me was reassurance. But sometimes there was no reasoning with your own erratic emotions.
Or, apparently, the way your body responded to the touch of a male. Not to mention his deep, penetrating gaze.
What could I say?
I’d gone and given my body the go-ahead to start being interested in guys again. I couldn’t blame it for choosing Matteo Grassi.
I mean, the man was, objectively, a dreamboat.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever actually seen someone as attractive as he was in real life before.
Then on top of that, he had to go and be the stereotypical alpha guy by being involved in shady dealings. Hell, he practically did the caveman “knock her over the head with a stick and take her back to my cave” thing. Except, of course, he hadn’t actually struck me.
Which, yeah, I guess was another thing in his favor.
He absolutely could have hurt me.
He had every opportunity.
But he hadn’t taken it.
And if his words were to be believed, his intention was to keep me from harm at the hands of his other mafia counterparts.
So, yeah, you understand why my body and mind got their wires crossed when he had his hands on me.
He smelled good too.
He always did.
I tried not to notice in the past. You didn’t want to be caught sniffing your boss, after all. But he had this signature scent that was both rich and spicy, but also understated. It was like it begged you to get just a little bit closer, lean in, take a deep breath, and become intimately acquainted with the places where the scent kissed his skin.
I’m a little ashamed to admit that I took the opportunity with him standing so close to suck in a slow, deep breath. And the scent seemed to move from my nose and all through my body, making me feel weirdly buzzy from it.
I guess that was to blame for what blurted out of my mouth right then.