Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Licking my lips again, I ask, “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yes.”
My gaze darts to his. “Can you recommend a tattoo artist?”
“I’ll give you the address before you leave.”
My attention returns to the bed, and my muscles lock in place when I think about moving down into a lying position.
Come on! You can do this.
It takes a lot of strength to unwrap my arms from around my waist, and placing my hands on the covers, I slowly scoot down.
“After I spent time with you last week, I realized I don’t get out much. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date,” he admits, much to my surprise.
“Really? Is it because you’re too busy?” I ask as I slowly lower my head to the pillow.
When I’m in a horizontal position, I stare at the ceiling and listen for any movement from him.
“Yes. I’ve been swept up in my work and forgot there’s more to life.”
I hear him shift, and my eyes dart to the corner, only to see him leaning back in the armchair.
“I just wanted you to know I’m also getting something from these meetings.”
I nod while my fingers dig into the covers. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I try to close my eyes, but the moment they’re shut, I’m bombarded with memories.
Even though I was in a relationship with Todd, and we’ve had sex before, feeling him push inside me this time makes a crack rip through the very foundation my entire life has been built on.
He lets out a groan. ‘Do you feel how good we fit together, Sam?’
He thrusts into me again, and my mind screams for him to stop. Another tear escapes from the corner of my eye and disappears into my hair.
‘I’ll never let you leave me. If you try, I’ll kill us both.’
I dart off the bed, and with my arms wrapped around me, I rub my hands up and down my biceps in an attempt to comfort myself.
“I’m here and won’t allow anyone to hurt you,” my mystery man says, his tone sounding harsher than usual.
The sound of his voice is so familiar I find myself stepping closer to him. When I’m next to the armchair, I sink down until my butt hits the floor and lean back against the wall.
Feeling disappointed with myself, I mumble, “It was worth a try.”
“You’ll get it right,” he murmurs, sounding more confident in my abilities than I am right now. “There’s no rush.”
Still wanting to make a success of tonight, I glance up at him. “Can you come sit next to me?”
I watch as his powerful body rises from the chair, and when he moves closer and sits down beside me, I’m surprised when I don’t feel a wave of panic.
Maybe it’s because my eyes are open?
He’s left a couple of inches between us, so I scoot closer until my arm brushes against his, which gets my heart racing.
I take a slow breath before I close my eyes.
With his voice no louder than a whisper, he says, “After my dad passed away from a stroke, my mother started getting panic attacks. It took years and a lot of medication before she managed to deal with her grief.”
I keep my voice soft as I reply, “I’m sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard for your family.”
“It was, but with time, things got better.”
He’s right. It’s been a year since I left Houston, and in a way, I’ve learned to live with the trauma.
What else can you do when giving up is not an option?
Chapter 12
Franco
Tonight is a fuck-ton more difficult than I expected it would be.
After spending time away from the office so I didn’t have to interact with Samantha, I knew tonight might be uncomfortable.
But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s brutal.
All I want to do is hold her. The fucking urge is driving me insane.
I link my fingers again and rest my hands on my lap while I tell her about my parents.
When Dad had the stroke, I had no choice but to take over as the leader of the Vitale family.
Christ, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. People looked to me to run the business even though I had no fucking idea what I was doing.
“Were you close with your dad?” Samantha asks.
“Not really. I was seventeen and at a stage in my life where I didn’t agree with anything my father said or did. Looking back now, I wish I had listened to him.”
“Don’t we all,” she chuckles. “I argued with my mom about everything when I was a teenager.”
Wanting to keep the conversation flowing, I ask, “What kind of tattoo do you want to get?”
I feel her arm brush against mine as she shifts a little. “I was thinking of bricks or blocks with some shading and a flower growing out of it.”