Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“We’ll plan to meet at the same time next Thursday. Does that work for you?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good. It’s kind of late. Do you want me to walk you to your car?”
“No. Thanks for the offer, but Victor drove me here. He’s outside.”
“Victorio?” Deanna asks, sitting up straighter and reaching to the back of her head to make sure her hair is still secure and in place. It’s pulled back in a classic bun. Her hair is blonde, sleek, and perfectly straight. She could be a model. She looks that way despite the black pinstriped suit dress that she’s wearing.
I ignore the minor flare of jealousy that lights up inside of me. I also don’t like how his full name rolls off her lips. It always annoys me, but for some reason it is worse right now. All women love to look at him. They practically throw themselves at him. I think that’s the reason I call him Victor. I want to differentiate myself from all the other women. Which is stupid because he can have any woman he wants. A broken woman with an ugly scar and even uglier ones on the inside isn’t his type. I doubt I’d be anyone’s type.
“Yes,” I murmur, standing up, looking down at my frumpy jeans and the weird Christmas sweater that I’m wearing. It’s fuzzy green and it looks like a kindergartner slapped red stockings and kitten heads on it. I thought it’d make Victor laugh because he always calls me Kitten. Now, I really wish I’d worn something else. “Would you like to go with me to the car and see him?” I offer with a laugh. I do my best to keep it from sounding bitter. Deanna is beautiful and Victor might like her. He deserves to be happy…
“I guess I could,” she practically giggles. Before she can say anything else, however, her office phone rings. She frowns. “Or not. Looks like I’m not done for the day. Maybe next time,” she says.
“Okay,” I reply, thankfully. It’s getting old watching women drool over the man who has become my best friend—and the star in my nightly fantasies.
I sigh. Wishing for the millionth time that I could be normal and just a little pretty.
Just a little…
victorio
. . .
I lean against the SUV, watching as my Kitten walks out of the stone and glass building. God, she takes my breath away. I smile as her hair bounces against her shoulders as she walks. It is a riot of waves and curls, and it never fails to make my breath catch. Her hair is back to its natural red, too. She was blonde when we first met. I much prefer her natural color. She’s come so far in such a short time. I know Gia doesn’t think so, but I know better. Most of the time, she barely resembles the quiet woman that I walked out of the staged funeral for Maxwell. There’s still a lot of healing that needs to be done, but she’s getting better. I’m so proud of her.
My gaze drops down to that crazy Christmas sweater she’s wearing. Christmas is long past, but that didn’t matter to her. I have to admit, I love that, and I love her silly sweater. It has fuzzy stockings on it with cats sticking out of them. My lips jerk with the need to laugh. I can’t do that. I think she’s adorable, but my girl has no self-esteem. She’d think I was making fun of her and that’s the last thing I want.
I’ve been handling her gently. That’s getting harder and harder to do. I want her. However, I’ve learned enough about her past through Emilia to know I can’t claim her. It would terrify her. Gia’s getting stronger, though. She’s been on her own for a while, too. I see signs of her healing even if she doesn’t. I also catch the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. Antonio and Niko are both giving me hell, telling me to make my move. I want to, but the last fucking thing I need is to send my woman back into hiding. She’s too spectacular to watch as she stretches her wings. So, I’m biding my time and chasing other men away. It’s something that is getting exhausting and would make me go off the deep end, except for the fact that she doesn’t even notice. She has no idea of her effect on men.
Shit, she has no idea how she affects me.
The woman in question smiles at me before she gets close. Her cheeks heat in a blush that makes my dick ache. I keep my eyes trained on her, taking in the way her hips sway when she walks and her breasts bouncing with each step. God, she’s phenomenal. As she gets closer, the scent of the salty sea and sweet vanilla collide. I don’t know if it’s a lotion or perfume she wears, but it never fails to hit me and make my fucking knees weak.