Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I want to scream. Bile rises in my throat. Everyone’s staring, the whole damn bar, and this was a terrible mistake. I should’ve gone somewhere smaller, quieter, somewhere out of the way, somewhere that wouldn’t give a crap where the money was coming from, but I had this image of escaping my violent bastard ex-husband in style.
But that’s all crashing down around me.
I’m going to get arrested over a single martini.
“Please,” I say and it’s the most pathetic I’ve ever felt. All my anger slowly drains away, replaced by terror.
If I’m stuck here all because some mustache-twirling jerk suddenly grew a moral compass, Christopher’s going to show up. He’s going to appear, and he’s going to kill me.
Maybe not right away. But slowly, surely, I will die if I stay with that man.
A shadow appears at my elbow. I figure it’s hotel security, come to throw me out on my ass, or maybe to call the cops. I turn around, forming a million different excuses, ready to cry if that’s what it takes, anything to avoid getting caught by my ex—
A man’s standing there. Tall and broad, massive actually, muscular and brooding with dark hair and dark eyes.
He’s handsome in a startling way and my mouth works, trying to find words, but there are none. His suit fits him perfectly, but he still looks like he’d rather be in a pair of jeans and nothing else.
My jaw drops, and for once in my lousy life, I have nothing to say.
His dark, nearly pitch-black eyes meet mine. A jolt of excitement spikes down my stomach and into my core. His lips are full and pink, and he’s looking at me like he wants to peel me apart to study my insides. But in a really weird, sexy way.
“Put her drink on my tab.” His voice is a rumble, practically subsonic.
“Mr. Kazan, are you sure—” The bartender starts, but the big man interrupts him.
“Yes,” he says. “Now, please.”
The bartender practically melts away in fear.
I stare at the enormous man and blink for a beat, trying to come to grips with what just happened. “Thank you,” I say and clear my throat as I gather up my credit cards. “I really appreciate it, but—”
His hand comes down on my shoulder. He doesn’t grip, and it’s not threatening, but there’s a clear message.
“Stay,” he says and a jolt of worry lances into my stomach.
What is this gorgeous monster going to demand in exchange for that drink?
Based on the way the bartender reacted to him, I suspect this Mr. Kazan is known around here, and if that’s the case, I doubt they’ll stop him from doing whatever he wants.
I have a thousand terrible stranger-danger scenarios playing out in my head and I’m about ready to scream when the massive dark-eyed man leans forward.
His voice drops to a sultry purr.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “Because I’m starving.”
Chapter 2
Camille
It takes a second to understand what he’s saying. “Hungry?” I ask him like I’ve never heard the word before. But I quickly get control of myself. “Sorry, uh, I’m fine.” I twist away from his grip and stand up. “I was just leaving. Thanks for the drink, really, you saved my life.”
He stares at me, head tilted to the side like he’s reading the inside of my guts. “I’m not asking for your phone number and I’m not interested in a date. I’m asking if you want some company and a meal.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say and start walking. That’s true—I made sure to stuff myself before running earlier—but I don’t know how long it’s going to last. If Christopher is already cutting off his stash of cards, that means I won’t have any money at all to get a room for the night, much less anything to eat.
I’m planning my next move as I head through the lobby, but Mr. Kazan’s still at my side, keeping pace. “Pizza,” he says. “Deep dish, if that’s your thing.”
I make a face. “I’m from Philly. Deep dish is like a mortal sin back in my neighborhood.”
“Then whatever kind of pizza you want. I’m not picky.”
I glance at the expensive suit and the glittering watch on his wrist. “I highly doubt that.”
“How about this. There’s a Greek place near here that I like. I know the owners. Best souvlaki in the city. If it doesn’t change your life, I’ll pay the bill and you can go on your way, no complaints from me.”
I slow before I reach the exit. Outside, Chicago is a glittering, chaotic nightmare, an unfamiliar place filled with strangers.
I’ve been in this city for two months, and I’ve spent most of that time locked in the house my husband purchased, thinking about how I was going to get out.
I have no clue where I’m going. I have no clue what I’m doing.