Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
It's stupid, of course. I'm just a means to an end to him. But part of me actually believed him when he said he'd regret it for the rest of his life if he hurt me. Part of me let myself believe that maybe, just maybe he cared about me. That part of me is a naive little girl.
I wake up every morning to some new gift from him, but I know he only sends them to keep me complacent. As if this is just a game to him and I'm just a pawn on the board. I'm not sure if I'm more pissed that he tries to play me…or if I'm more hurt that he just disappeared for three days without even saying goodbye.
"I want to hear it from you," he says.
"None."
"Liar." The smile in his voice threatens to thaw a little of the ice around my heart.
"One."
He arches a brow.
"Fine. Eleven. But I followed your stupid rule, so the terms of our agreement still stand," I say, praying no one told him that I twisted my ankle yesterday. If he tries to lock me up in his room again, I will smother him with a pillow. I've already checked it from top to bottom. There's nothing of use to me in there.
I'm not sure there's anything helpful in his office either. There aren't any guards on the door, and it's unlocked. I have a feeling any dirt he keeps here is hidden in the west wing, the one place I'm not allowed to go. After my run-in with Carmine yesterday, I'm a little afraid to even try sneaking into the west wing to poke around. The last thing I need to do is rouse his suspicion.
I have no idea what I'm doing. I just want to get out. This place, this man…they're dangerous to me in ways I didn't expect. Diego prepared me for war. He didn't teach me how to guard my heart. I'm no longer sure what we're even fighting for here. The whole thing seems so pointless. Diego wants to topple Rafe and the Valentino empire, but it seems to me that he suffers enough already.
I don't think he enjoys any of what he does. Nor do I think it's something he relishes. It's a weight on his shoulders, one he carries for reasons I don't yet understand. But he carries it anyway. Isn't that punishment enough for his crimes? Can I really sacrifice one man to save another?
Doubt plagues me, unsettling me.
"I missed you," Rafe says.
"Your willing bedmates weren't enough for you?" I snap, refusing to bend even if he does sound exhausted. Especially because he sounds exhausted.
"Willing bedmates?" His gaze seeks mine.
I turn my face to the side to avoid his. I didn't mean to say that. And I don't want to talk about it now that I have. The way I feel about this man isn't rational. It makes no sense. He's the enemy, the man who will kill my brother with no remorse and no hesitation. He's a murderer, a tyrant, and worse. But God help me, I want him anyway. The thought of him with anyone else eats me up with jealousy. I've thought of nothing else since he's been gone. Him kissing someone else. Him holding someone else. Him staking his claim on someone else. How many other women in this city are also his? How many know how intoxicating his kisses are?
I hate that I'm jealous. And I hate that I don't hate it at all. He's gotten under my skin and no amount of arguing with myself about it will expel him. If anything, it only seems to embed him a little deeper.
"Look at me, Amalia," he orders me.
"I don't take orders from you," I growl.
"Look at me."
"No."
His hand delves into my hair, pulling just hard enough to have my clit thrumming in time to my heart. I'm not afraid of him and he knows it. I think that's exactly why he does it, to remind me that I'm not afraid of him. To remind me how much I like it when he touches me. To remind me that I'm his, even if I hate it. Even when he pinned me to the bed the other night, caught in the throes of his nightmare, I wasn't afraid. Perhaps I should have been, but I wasn't.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
He encircles my throat with his free hand, moving slowly as if to give me time to tell him no. Except…I don’t.
He squeezes gently.
I barely fight back a moan.
The second time he touched my throat the other night, I wanted him to squeeze like he is right now. I'm not sure what that says about me, and I don't care. He's the worst possible thing for me…and yet I'm mad that he left me here without a word. I'm angry that he forgot about me so easily when I've done nothing but obsess about him for three damn days.