Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
My lip twitching in anger, I fight the urge to reach out and grab her by the wrist to keep her still, and I accuse, “You were having an affair with him, with Gio? Weren’t you? That’s why you wanted Dino dead.” I pause to gauge her reaction, but she’s off, as far away from me as she can possibly get. “I should’ve guessed. He didn’t look all that upset about the death of his brother.” I glare at her retreating back. “I’ll bet my left nut that’s why he offered to find you himself. Is that it?” She keeps walking and my stomach burns, tight and coiled in agitation, and fury blazes, singeing my insides. “Talk to me.”
She limps as she power walks, not as badly as she did the day before, but bad enough that my stomach tightens with the need to pick her up and carry her to the sofa, somewhere soft and comfortable. My pride, of course, will never allow that to happen, but for the record, I want to.
“Fuck you,” she snarls, doing laps around the house, this being our second time through the kitchen. I smile secretly, knowing she has no idea where to go, but this doesn’t slow her pace.
I try a gentler approach.
“Alejandra.” Shit. My tone is still too harsh. I try again. “Baby, stop. Let’s talk.”
At my calling her baby, she spins on her heel, wincing slightly, and I nearly run her down at the sudden stop. She glowers up at me, raising a hand and poking me in the chest with one solid finger. Her eyes flame and she speaks through gritted teeth.
“Stop.” Poke. “Calling.” Poke. “Me.” Poke. “Baby.” Poke, poke, poke.
Fuck.
The attitude.
It does things to me.
My dick stirs from behind my black pants and I shift on my feet, throwing her a menacing look. “I’ll call you whatever I feel like, baby.” I move slowly, getting down into her space until we’re nose to nose. “For all intents and purposes, you belong to me.”
And, dear God, I wish that were the honest truth, that I could use her the way I really want to. Sleeping beside her is hard enough. My dick cries wet, thick tears every morning in the shower, but it hardly satisfies me.
Ling called me out the night before, and although I denied the accusation, she was right. I’m getting attached to her. It was a rookie mistake giving her access to my space. And as much as I want to get rid of her, my chest tightens at the thought of… of…
My mind utters the words I wouldn’t dare.
Of being alone again.
Ling is also a friend, but she is more an associate. She has her own interests, and they don’t involve me. Honestly, I don’t dig the shit Ling is into. We don’t interact socially, don’t go out to dinner, and we don’t get deep and meaningful. Not that Ling has it in her to do deep and meaningful. She has her space upstairs, and I have mine downstairs. We eat together on occasion only because it’s convenient, but we do this in silence for the most part, intermittently talking shit about work.
Alejandra is a complicated creature and, Lord have mercy, I find myself drawn to her. All day, she doesn’t stop with the talking, but as soon as we move toward the bedroom to sleep, she shuts down, becoming jittery and stiff. And it fucking kills me.
I get it. She doesn’t know me from Adam and, at night, I might fantasize about all the different ways I can make her scream in pleasure, but I won’t go there. Not even if she wants me to.
Well, damn.
Okay, I’d likely resist a while but, fuck, I’m only human. I don’t know if I’d have it in me to deny a woman like Alejandra. She’s petite, something I’ve always loved. She’s beautiful, a bonus. And she’s smart, not at all the ditz she’d have me believe she is.
The sands in her hourglass quicken by the minute. Tomorrow is her deadline.
If she doesn’t give me something—anything—by then, she gets sent back home, a lamb to the slaughter.
I’m giving her an opportunity to save herself, but she’s making it difficult.
Lightly grasping the front of her linen shirt, I watch her big brown eyes widen as large as saucers, and I growl in warning, “Time’s almost up, little one. What’s it going to be?”
Her eyes bright, she swallows hard and looks me in the eye, as she states, “You’re just like them.”
My brow furrows. “Like who?”
She takes a step back. “Them.” Then another. “All of them.” Suddenly, a look of pure sadness sweeps her. “You don’t want to help me. You want to help yourself. The only person I can rely on is me.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something there. Grief, maybe. “I thought maybe you were different, but you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”