Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Giving the driver my prescription, he says, “Go get this from the pharmacy.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver replies as Saverio opens his door and gets out.
I freeze. I think he believes me. I’m ninety percent sure he’s not going to stab me to death and bury my body on a hill, but there’s always that ten percent of doubt.
Bending my head, I try to get a glimpse of our surroundings. The stately mansion and manicured garden that are visible through his open door catch me by surprise.
Panic engulfs me when he opens my door and offers me a hand. Not wanting to aggravate him and ignite his anger again, I slip my fingers into his.
“Where are we?” I ask as he helps me from the car.
In the distance, the green expanse of Prospect Park is visible. We’re in a posh part of Park Slope.
“This is my home.” He places my hand on the crook of his elbow. “Come, I’ll show you around.”
I dig in my heels. “I have to get back to the office. I’ll get into trouble if I’m late. The HR manager was unhappy with letting me take the morning off as it is.”
“I already told them you won’t be in today.”
Baffled, I ask, “Why would you do something like that?”
He raises a brow and just looks at me.
Of course. He believed I was running to Evan to blurt out the truth. Saverio would’ve had to deal with me. Us. Evan and me.
A shiver crawls down my spine when I think about how close both of us came to dying today. If Saverio didn’t give me a chance to explain—
“Come on,” he says, tugging me toward the impressive two-story house.
My heartbeat speeds up as warning bells go off in my head. “What are we doing here?” I hang back. “Why did you bring me to your house?”
“It’s time we take our relationship to the next level.” His smile is pure wickedness. “We’re moving in together, my love.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Saverio
Ican’t say my intentions for moving Anya in with me are pure. It has more to do with the lust coursing through my veins than the need to keep an eye on her. It’s not even about making sure she’s taking care of herself or putting up a front for the world that will convince the authorities about our romantic relationship. Sure, that’s a major motivation. But I’m more interested in having her here so I can push her buttons and my boundaries. It’s about wanting to strip her naked and come all over her porcelain skin. It’s about a selfish need to explore the arousal she ignites, to see just how far she’ll make me go.
Because she’s a potent aphrodisiac.
She’s got a strange kind of power over me, a power I don’t understand, and if there’s one thing I learned in my life, it’s that it’s dangerous to give someone power over you. It’s essential to own all the power, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to figure out what this hold is she’s got on me, and I’m going to take back control.
With that objective in mind, I steer her into the house. Taking her bag, I leave it on the entrance table.
I bought the mansion from an oil magnate. The dark hardwood floors and wall panels create a gloomy atmosphere, but the windows let in plenty of light.
I watch her closely as I guide her up the stairs. She gawks at the paintings on the walls and the priceless Samurai statues and Japanese vases.
We stop on the landing. I give her a minute when she pauses to take in the pressed ceiling and crystal chandeliers. The apartment she lives in is nice, but from what Livy told me, the environment Anya grew up in is a far cry from the luxury surrounding her.
It can seem overwhelming. I know. It took time to get used to the extravagance when Luigi took me in. The lavish décor and fancy fittings of my place still catch me off guard at times. I suppose the newness hasn’t worn off. It doesn’t help that I spend so little time at home. When I moved out of the house I shared with Rachele, I didn’t care where I went. I simply walked into the first house that came onto the market for over a few million and bought the place, furniture and all.
“What do you think?” I ask, genuinely curious about her opinion as I lead her down the hallway.
She tilts her head to study a portrait of someone’s ancestor I don’t know. “Is this your family?”
I chuckle. “No.”
She looks at me. “Then who is it?”
My laugh is dry. “I have no idea. It came with the house.”
“You didn’t decorate it yourself?” she asks with surprise.
“I don’t have time for that.”
She frowns. “So you’d rather live in a place someone else made a home.”