Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
He swallows, his eyes doing that consuming thing. “You’re not how I would’ve imagined you.”
“How you would’ve imagined me?” I ask.
“I never thought about you, not after the funeral. But if I had, Liliana, I would’ve imagined you meeker. More afraid. More careful.”
“Would you prefer that?” I say, voice tinged with sarcasm I can’t seem to control. “If I was a little less me?”
He sighs darkly. “It’s not about what I prefer.”
There’s a pause, during which I think of countless things to say, but none of them seem to fit. He watches me steadily, giving nothing away.
That’s it with us, moving from one vivid moment to the next.
“What about dinner?” I ask. “I made a pasta dish. I saved you some.”
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes glimmering.
With emotion? With lust? With love?
Okay, now I really need to pump the brakes. Pump them until they stop working.
“Yes,” he says, gesturing for the door.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Damien
The second I bite down, I know the dish is special.
It’s a simple meal, pasta with spices and chicken, but there’s something infused within the food.
Maybe it’s the fact it’s my woman giving it to me, looking at me with that look on her face, eyes wide and yet looking like she wants to close them at the same time.
But no, that’s taking away from her skill.
With another bite, then another, I close my eyes and savor the taste blooming across my tongue.
“Is that good news?” she asks.
I open my eyes, smiling as I swallow. After touching my lips with a serviette, I nod. “Yes, it’s good news. That’s delicious.”
“I was worried about the sauce. I hope it was okay; I left it on the heat.”
“It’s amazing. It’s given everything time to blend.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red than they have yet, her lips so magnetizing when they spread into a glow-filled smile. Then she turns to the window, looking out at the garden.
“I’m glad you like it.”
My body stirs as I study her, my gaze moving over her figure in the simple clothes. She doesn’t need anything fancy to highlight her curves, to draw my eye to the way the fabric clings onto her gorgeous figure.
I want to squeeze her, pull her into my lap, and push my lips against her neck as she shivers for me.
She sits, looking over at me from time to time as I eat.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I ask.
“I, uh…I had some earlier.”
I tilt my head, studying her. “What is it?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re lying,” I growl, with far too much firmness in my voice.
She doesn’t have to tell me the truth, not about herself, not how she feels. Except she does, when we get right down to it, because she’s mine.
“Why does it matter?” she murmurs.
“Because I think….”
My gaze moves to the closed door, the kitchen empty except for us at the window bar. I could reach out and touch her. The simplest thing, lean over and brush the hair from her face, then push my lips against hers.
I can taste her, her need, and her desire…
Or is it all me?
“What?” she whispers.
“I think you never need to worry about your figure,” I say fiercely.
She gasps in a way I can read, a way that tells me I’ve hit the truth of the matter. My fork drops into the bowl, my hands suddenly shaking, my body threatening to tremor volcanically.
This is it. I can feel it.
The moment I’ve been trying to avoid ever since the party.
I have to hold some of it back, I warn myself.
But it feels impossible as I stand up, walk around the table, and stare down at her with all the force of us pumping through me.
She looks up at me, her mouth falling open like she can’t quite believe what I’m doing. Neither can I, but the moment is sweeping me up.
She’s sweeping me up.
I’ve spent my whole life cold, hard, doing what needs to be done. I’ve never let myself feel this…no, it’s more than that. I’ve never met anybody who could make me feel this.
Leaning down, I take her shoulders in my hands, gently pulling her to her feet. She makes the most adorable whimpering sound.
“Your figure is perfect,” I tell her, my voice husky, glimmers of light in her eyes telling me my words might be doing something magical to her.
This can’t just be on my end.
But I have to slow down.
Just a kiss.
Can I really stop there?
“You’re beautiful, Liliana,” I say passionately. “You don’t have to feel self-conscious around me.”
I smooth my hands from her shoulders down her arms, toward her wrists, as though part of me knows I have to do this slowly. Or I’ll snap into action, all predator, all teeth, and primal captivation.
She’s not ready for that yet. She can’t be, not on this level.