Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I’d rarely dug my feet in about things in my life. When you were surrounded by so many demanding, overbearing men who believed they knew what was best for you, life was easier if you simply… gave in.
They hadn’t been prepared for just how stubborn I’d been about this ever since I learned that Renzo wanted an alliance through marriage with my family.
Their valid arguments had fallen on unhearing ears. I was too busy imagining my dress, the moment Renzo would kiss me at the altar, how he’d make love to me in his bed later.
Grumbling, I shook off those thoughts that now felt so silly.
I went back to my book, finishing it and feeling restless at not having something to focus on.
That day, two meals showed up, unbidden, in the kitchen.
The same the next day, and I figured those two meals must have ended up during Elian’s shift.
Still, though, no sightings of my husband. Just a mussed bed, a damp towel, and a coffee cup in the sink.
Disappointment mingled with a longing I didn’t have a name for, an ache for a man who clearly never spared me a second thought.
By the fourth day, a dark cloud formed over me, the weight of it making it hard to do anything but take my scalding baths and roll restlessly around in the bed.
Like on my wedding day, I felt tugged in two directions. One part of me wanted to go home to my family, to tell them they were right, bury myself back into my girlhood bed, and pretend none of this ever happened.
The other, clearly the stronger, part of me, though, wanted to stay, wanted this to work.
Regardless of all the proof that there was no hope of that.
I’d fallen into a sad sleep, plagued with vague dreams about drowning, the cold water surrounding me, the pressure building in my lungs as bubbles of oxygen escaped me while I kicked and writhed helplessly.
I woke with a gasp, shooting up in bed, panting for breath, my hand going to my throat, the sensation of drowning so strong, so real, despite never having swum a day in my life, having no idea what it actually felt like to be trapped under the water, struggling for air.
It was a long second before I realized I suddenly wasn’t alone, that there was noise coming from the bathroom.
The second my gaze shot in that direction, the door swung open.
And there he was.
With nothing on but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.
There was no way to prepare for the way desire crashed into me, a sensation as strong as a punch to the gut, stealing my breath, making my skin immediately warm.
Renzo was half a stride out of the bathroom when he noticed me sitting up against the headboard, my hand still around my throat, shamelessly watching him.
His head cocked to the side, his eyes sliding over me, and my skin pricked like his gaze was a physical touch, a caress.
Suddenly, I felt laid bare, like he was seeing me naked instead of in the pair of sleep shorts and roomy sweatshirt that I’d put on for bed.
He moved toward the bed, his gaze never leaving me.
And despite the embarrassed flush that started over my cheeks at my boldness, I couldn’t seem to look away from him either.
Standing at the side of the bed, he reached for the tuck of his towel, flicking it loose.
The material slipped to the ground, leaving him completely naked, standing there without a hint of shame or insecurity.
And why would he be insecure?
If I were chiseled out of marble, I wouldn’t feel insecure either.
Renzo said nothing as he got into the bed.
The heat of his body and the scent of him overwhelmed me, making it impossible to think of anything but the nearness of him.
Renzo turned toward me, his hand moving out, landing on my neck, fingers massaging the back of it, teasing into my hair, fingers lightly rubbing circles on my scalp.
I leaned toward the touch, aching for more of that sweetness, the touch I’d been craving for longer than I could admit.
“It shouldn’t have been like that,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.
I didn’t know what he meant.
And some part of me was terrified to say anything, to ask for clarification, and break the spell of this moment as his fingers drifted further across my scalp, making little currents of desire move across my scalp, then down my spine, pooling in my core… and lower.
“It can be good,” he added, fingers sinking into the back of my neck, pulling me closer, then ducking his head, his lips meeting my neck, making a little shiver course through me. “I’ll make it good,” he added, and this time, the shiver was in my core as his fingers sank into my hip, the touch firm and possessive.