Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Who was this man? He didn’t seem real to her. She didn’t argue with him as she went into the dining room.
On that night, all those years ago, her mother had cooked her pancakes. She claimed it would soak up the alcohol. Chloe felt like the taste had remained in her mouth for days, even though she brushed her teeth religiously. This is why she avoided tequila.
Last night, she didn’t even know what was going on in her head. It was a little a fuzzy to her. Waiting at the nightclub for hours hadn’t been her idea of fun. She remembered wanting to go and dance, but the guards wouldn’t let her. They did allow her to drink.
Is that why she did it? Wanting to be a giant pain in the ass? It had to be. She knew how alcohol affected her, and yet she had done it anyway.
Seconds passed, and Roman walked into the room carrying the tray of goodies. The scents didn’t turn her stomach, but made her mouth water. She couldn’t recall eating last evening. The drinking might have started because she was starving. Not a great combination.
Picking up the knife and fork, she cut up a piece of bacon and some eggs, and scooped them into her mouth. She closed her eyes. Roman had overcooked the scrambled eggs she loved. She liked the crispness to the egg. She had a feeling it was down to a memory as a kid. Her mother did her scrambled eggs the gooey way, and she threw them all up. She never ate scrambled eggs again, until her mother cooked them like this. Picking up a piece of toast, she took a bite. With each minute that passed, the pain in her head was starting to ease.
“You didn’t have to leave me at the nightclub last night,” Chloe said.
“I didn’t expect business to take that long.”
“You were doing business? At eight o’clock at night?”
He didn’t say anything and Chloe just knew he was conducting that kind of business.
“Do you … ever hate what you do?”
“No.”
“Just like that. No hesitation.”
“I have a job to do, Chloe.”
“I know.” She dropped the toast onto the plate. “You think I don’t know exactly the kind of job you do?”
“Why do you hate us so much?” Roman asked.
“Hate? You think this is about hate. You know exactly who I am, and yet you ask me that.” She pushed her chair out and stepped away from the table.
“Do not leave this room,” Roman said.
“Why?” she asked. “What exactly are you going to do to me? Kill me? Hit me? Punish me?”
Roman shoved his chair back and closed the distance between them. Even though she wanted to take a step back, she didn’t. There was no way she would look weak. However, she never anticipated what Roman did next.
He pulled out a chair, sat down, grabbed her, thrust her over his lap, and then proceeded to slap her ass. Not once either, and not gentle, but hard and firm. Once he was done, he lifted her, cupped her face, and kissed her.
“Don’t ever hurt yourself again,” he said, kissing her one more time.
Chapter Four
Roman knew he had startled Chloe with spanking her ass. She needed it. After last night, when she had passed out in his arms, he had been alarmed. No, not alarmed, a little terrified, in case she had alcohol poisoning. He had truly believed she might be sick.
He had even called the Bratva’s doctor to consult with him, and as he’d been on the phone, Chloe had chosen that moment to start vomiting. The doctor had told him he simply had a woman who couldn’t handle her drink, to help her, stay with her through the night to make sure she didn’t throw up in her sleep, and offer her painkillers and a good breakfast in the morning.
All night Roman sat at Chloe’s bedside. He hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours. Roman was used to surviving on very little sleep. Lack of sleep he could handle. He couldn’t handle his woman potentially hurting herself. He had no choice but to spank her delectable ass, and the truth was he wanted to do it again.
Instead, she sat in his office at said nightclub, with a pair of glasses on her eyes, arms folded, pretending not to be asleep. He’d heard the soft, subtle hints of her snoring, and he wasn’t going to deny how adorable she sounded. Clearing his throat, he saw her jolt in her seat and he tried not to laugh as she finally pulled the sunglasses off her nose.
“Why are you finding this funny?”
“If you need to sleep, sleep,” he said.
“I don’t need to sleep.”
She had no idea that he sat at her bedside the whole night, watching over her.
“What kind of work do you do here?” she asked. “What is this a front for?” She got to her feet and moved toward the window that overlooked the whole nightclub. He could see out across the floor, but no one knew he was watching.