Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
4
MADELENA
Santos is sitting in the same armchair he’d been sitting in when I woke up. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite name as Odin confirms what he told me, that Uncle Jax was blackmailing our father. He, too, however, declines to give me more details, and I know it’s bad.
My gaze vacillates between my brother and my husband as the façade of the world I’ve always known is chipped away, exposing an ugly truth beneath. As I numbly listen, I remember the overheard conversations, the distrust going back years, as far as when Mom was alive. No, not just distrust. Hate.
“I’m sorry, Maddy,” Odin finally says.
“You’ve known all these years.”
“What could I do? What would have been the point in telling you?”
I wonder if he suspected my uncle was murdered because he knew about the blackmail. He knew he had enemies. But does that mean he’d suspected our father? No, on that he seems as dumfounded as me, as stunned.
But he does confirm that Santos couldn’t have committed the murder—not based on the timeline of his arrival and the fact that our uncle was already dead by then. There’s photographic evidence to prove it.
I don’t ask to see it because this is enough for one night. Hell, it’s enough for a lifetime.
A man I’d thought honest and upstanding wasn’t. My brother has known the truth for five years and shielded me from it. I understand he did it to protect me, but it doesn’t feel good.
And then there’s the fact that my own father is capable of murder.
Odin looks defeated when it’s over. He turns to Santos as if to ask what’s next, and Santos dismisses him. Val is right outside the door, as usual. Santos tells him to take my brother downstairs and he’ll be down soon, and once again, I’m left alone with Santos, who comes to sit on the edge of the bed.
“You can just go. I’m tired.”
“We have business yet, sweetheart.”
“If you want to gloat, can you maybe hold off until tomorrow morning? I don’t think I can process a whole lot more tonight.”
“I’m not going to gloat. Believe it or not, it doesn’t make me happy to see you unhappy. I didn’t want you to find this out.”
“No, I know. I asked for it, right?” I shake my head, push my hand into my hair. “I’m tired.” I meet his dark forest gaze. How many more secrets does he keep that will unravel me? Will I ever know all there is to know about this man?
“You need to learn to trust me. Because without me, you’re not going to survive.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He gives me a half smile. “No, Little Kitty. It’s advice you should take.”
“Great, thanks. I’ll consider it. Can you go, please?”
“Like I said, we have business between us.” He takes a breath in, gets up, crosses the room and locks the door. I sit up on alert and watch. He turns back to me, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he returns to the bed.
Something about the ominous gesture sends some message that bypasses my thinking brain and hits at my very center. My stomach flips as, unable to hold his gaze, I look to his hands, his exposed forearms. He’s wearing the ring I remember from our first meeting on his right ring finger, and on his left is our wedding band. On one wrist is an expensive watch and that beaded bracelet. The olive skin is dusted with dark hair and watching his muscles work and flex has a strange power over me—like there’s something in me that has no choice but to submit to this man, that wants to do just that.
Santos Augustine is raw, animalistic masculinity. He is all alpha male, and my body is very aware of his. Our connection is undeniable, the feelings he stirs inside me wrong to my thinking mind and yet so very real.
He sits down on the edge of the bed and draws the blanket that’s covering my legs back. I’m dressed in a T-shirt. One of his, I guess. It’s huge on me. He must have put it on me when he brought me here from the lighthouse. I’m sure my dress was ruined.
I watch as his gaze slips to my bare legs. He rests one hand on my thigh, and I’m reminded again of the difference in size between us.
The difference in strength and power.
Even that does something to me.
When I look up, he’s watching me. I swallow because his eyes have gone dark, the pupils dilated. I find I’m licking my lips in anticipation of a thing I shouldn’t want.
“Take off the shirt,” he says.
I tilt my head in confusion because I think I was expecting him to kiss me.