Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
They buy me clothes, mostly basics, and more toiletries. Freddie laughs when I ask her how Davide feeds himself.
“I swear, he’s always been like that. He subsists on bitterness and the blood of his enemies.” She frowns at the look on my face. “Not literally, dear. I think he eats out most meals.”
“God, can you imagine how much happier he’ll be if there’s someone in his life actually buying things he needs,” Elena says, shaking her head. “We’ve all given up, but good luck with that.”
I do my best to bond with these women and it’s actually not that hard. Elena and I have some stuff in common, and Freddie’s the sort of person who could talk to a paper bag and make it feel comfortable. When they drop me back off at Davide’s house—or I guess it’s my house now too, I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work—I’m feeling better.
And about ten times guiltier.
I shouldn’t have snapped at him the day before. It was a low point, and I need to be stronger, because he and I are in this situation together whether I like it or not.
I head upstairs and drop my bags next to the bed. There’s banging coming from the third floor. It’s mostly storage up there, so I have no clue what’s going on, and my heart picks up the pace as nerves jolt through my body.
“Davide?” I call out and walk over to the stairs. “Are you up there?”
The banging pauses and he appears at the landing. My breath sucks into my throat as my mouth drops open.
He’s wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, worn boots, and nothing else. His muscles are rippling with sweat, his hair pushed back into loose, damp curls, and black tattoos cover his olive-dark skin. The man’s absolutely gorgeous, and my mouth waters just staring at him. My eyes drift to his defined chest, to his shredded abs, and down to the top of his jeans just barely hanging on. His hip bones are like heaven and that lovely freaking muscular V points straight down to heaven.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, and my core clenches with the sudden image of him fucking me into submission on the bed. I think if he asked for it, I’d lick every little bead of sweat from his skin and thank him for the pleasure.
“Uh, you do?” I ask, feeling very small, and very, very aroused.
“Come up. Bruno and Emilio are here.”
That dashes some of my hope. He’s definitely not the kind of guy that would fuck me senseless in front of his friends. I head up, not sure what I’m going to find, and stare at what looks like a construction site.
Emilio and Bruno both wave. They’re sitting on boxes and drinking cold beer, both of them equally sweaty and exhausted-looking. But what was once a totally wide-open space mostly used for storage is now roughly broken up by a few half-finished walls.
“What’s all this?” I ask, genuinely not sure what’s happening.
Then Davide’s at my side. He puts a hand on the small of my back and he’s standing very close. I breathe in his musky smell and a shiver runs down my spine as the image of him between my legs comes roaring back, and, my god, this man does things to me, things that should be illegal in any rational community.
“You said my house was too open for you.” His voice is gentle, and I don’t deserve gentle right now. I deserve angry, vindictive, harsh, but not whatever’s happening. “I’m giving you walls. I’m giving you space and doors you can lock.” He gestures at the general areas they’re closing off. “Three rooms to do whatever you want with. An office, a studio, it doesn’t matter. They will be yours and only you will have the key.”
I stare at him, completely astounded by this gesture. Yesterday I called his house creepy and insulted him straight to his face, and instead of being pissed, he’s trying to do something nice for me. Which only deepens my self-loathing and makes me feel like an absolute wreck of a human being.
“You didn’t need to do this,” I finally manage. I’m not going to cry, especially not in front of Emilio and Bruno, who are very seriously drinking their beers and pretending like we don’t exist.
“You’re right, I didn’t, but you needed something, dolcezza, and I wanted to give it to you. We’ll be finished in a day or two.”
I stare at him. That stupid Italian nickname makes my heart flutter—it basically means sweetness. I don’t know why it’s getting to me so much, maybe because I just spent a few hours with his sister and mother and actually enjoyed myself, or maybe because this gesture is genuinely kind and thoughtful, but warmth fills my body and makes my ears turn pink.