Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I raise my eyebrows at that. “Did it?”
“Come, Madelena. You need to sleep. That is all.”
My heart skips a beat then goes into double time to make up for it. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He chuckles. Literally, he chuckles. I’m not sure if I’m offended or embarrassed. Okay, the latter. He steps toward me. “Is that something you think about?” He brushes the hair back from my face, running a knuckle over my cheekbone, my jaw, while his gaze moves to my mouth.
I bite my lower lip so it won’t tremble beneath his gaze and I swear his eyes grow darker when I do. My heart thuds so hard against my ribs he must hear it.
His grin is wide when he returns his gaze to mine. “Is it, Little Kitty?”
“No.”
“Do you wonder what it will be like?” he asks, walking a slow circle around me. He’s so close I feel his breath with every word. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “How long have you been imagining it?”
I make a move to pull away, to tell him to fuck off, but he catches me and, with a finger against my chest, traps me at the door.
“Since I told you I’d take you over my knee?” he asks.
I try to ignore the heat that burns my neck and cheeks. I press my thighs together as his finger glides toward my collar bone, traces it. God. This is not happening.
“Because I admit, I felt it too. Wanted it,” he continues. He’s playing with me. I know he is.
“Stop.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
I shake my head.
He laughs outright, and my shoulders curl in defensively when I should be shoving the arrogant asshole away because of all things, I feel hurt. Fucking hurt.
“I can read you like a book, Little Kitty.”
“You’re a fucking jerk.”
“Maybe. But I never said anything about sleeping together. I just said that you need to sleep. You have a dirty mind.” He taps the tip of my nose and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. He draws away from me, looking satisfied. I think he’s telling the truth about reading me like a book, and that’s terrifying—that, and the fact that he is so much more experienced than me.
“I don’t think I’m your type anyway. Don’t you like them tall and blond?” I retort.
The grin shortens, and one eyebrow rises—the one with the split in it, an old scar.
“You haven’t been googling me, have you?” He’s amused. So fucking amused.
It was a stupid thing to ask, because I have been doing just that. I’ve seen the women he is usually with, and they look nothing like me.
He leans in close again, brushing the hair from my ear, and I can feel his lips along the shell of it. I can’t help my ragged breath because what he’s doing is sending raw electricity through my veins. “You shouldn’t believe what you see on the internet, sweetheart,” he says seriously, the word sweetheart catching me off guard. “Truthfully, I prefer brunettes.” He draws back. I turn my head to look up at him. “And I find myself more and more interested in a certain little kitty with a rebellious streak.”
Is he making fun of me again? I can’t tell because unlike me, he’s unreadable.
He sets two fingers on the raging pulse on my neck and I know it’s to show me that he can read me. He knows just how hard my heart is beating, knows what his being so close is doing to me. Most importantly, he knows he holds all the power.
I steel myself, force myself to look him straight in the eye. To try to separate my body from my mind. Seeing him this close is different than looking at photos in the society columns. He’s sort of beautiful in this dark, cruel way. I already knew that part. But beneath that cruelty, there’s a sadness inside his eyes. That’s the part the camera doesn’t catch.
I blink, and before I can think, I’m touching the scar that divides his right eyebrow.
Santos grins and takes my hand, and he’s gentle as his finger traces the scar he put on my palm. It’s strange because there is nothing gentle about this man. I know this. He is dangerous.
“Come, Little Kitty. Time to put you to bed.”
Without a word and without me expecting it, he lifts me up and carries me down the hall. I hook an arm over his shoulder. It’s all I can do as my mind processes what is happening, what I should be doing, and what my reaction should be. But it’s a mistake because I find my grip tightening on the hard muscle of his shoulders, his bicep, feeling his strength beneath the barrier of clothes.