Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
He peered down at me. I could tell he didn’t want to believe me. That his overdeveloped self-preservation instincts begged him to guard against another heartbreak. I couldn’t believe I made him taste betrayal again. The thought sickened me.
“I have no reason to trust you,” he finally said. Deathly quiet.
“I know.” I clung to him. We were so close, I could smell him. I wanted to drown in him and never resurface.
“Then, why should I?”
“Because I’m asking you to.” I licked my lips. “And because that should be enough.”
His nostrils flared. I knew he didn’t want to give me a chance. I also knew this was exactly why he’d ghosted me. He wanted to step back from the intensity of our relationship. Well, I wasn’t having it. I wanted him. All of him.
Palming his cheeks, I lowered his face down to mine. Our foreheads met. The tips of our noses touched.
I breathed hard, my lips moving over his. “You are not the only one here with a dark corner to your soul. I will go to extreme lengths to make sure you are mine. I want you. And I won’t give you up just because you decided you want to try out life without me again.”
That was all it took for his lips to fuse with mine. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed the backs of my thighs, hoisted me up as my legs wrapped around his waist, and carried me across the room. He thrust his tongue past my lips, kissing me deeply and furiously.
I moaned into his mouth, giving the kiss all I had before coming up for air and realizing we were in the hallway now. “Where are we going?” I nipped at his chin, already working on unbuttoning his shirt. I couldn’t believe we’d gone over an entire week without sex.
“My room.” He sucked the side of my throat, moving my panties aside and fingering me with the hand that wasn’t holding me wrapped against his body. “Our room.”
“Our room?” I pulled back, staring at him, wide-eyed.
“I am fucking done asking permission to see you every night. You’re moving in. Starting now.”
The next morning, Romeo was already in his study when I woke up. He obviously didn’t bridge Christmas and New Year where work was concerned. I splashed in his massive bed—our massive bed—grinning to myself. Somehow, yesterday had resulted in shattering a mental wall of his. I now budged closer to becoming his wife not only in name but in purpose.
My stomach growled, royally announcing it was back in business, demanding to be filled with decadent holiday pastries. But the rest of me had more pressing issues to tend to. Like moving all my things to the master bedroom before Romeo changed his mind.
I hurried down the corridor before remembering that I needed to pee. Slipping into a bathroom, I crouched on the toilet and giggled to myself. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed something in the trash can by the sink. After wiping and flushing, I fished it out. A Barnes & Noble bag?
Heart stammering, I tugged out the item inside, though I already knew what it would be. The new Henry Plotkin book. The thing I wanted more than anything else.
Shallow breaths sweltered in my throat. I closed my eyes, pressing the backs of my hands to my hot and tender cheeks.
He went there. Romeo. Waited outside the store all night to get me the book I wanted, knowing I couldn’t go myself.
Then he returned in the morning, only to hear me trash him to Frankie …
No wonder he was so angry. So miserable. After opening up to me. After sharing his body and future. After everything.
And still.
He cared about me. He worried for me. He nursed me back to health, tended to me, and bathed me when he thought I felt the worst about him.
I wasn’t falling in love with my husband. I was crashing straight into the arms of unhealthy, frenzied obsession.
If he left me now, I would never get over him.
He would forever be my perfect, dark Romeo.
Chapter Sixty-One
Dallas
Neither Romeo’s aloof demeanor nor his thirst for revenge rattled me. It was his ability to distance himself from every living being that proved to be fatal. Especially when that comprehensive list included me.
Every night, we shared a bed, but as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, we went our separate ways. Clearly, his survival tactics included convincing himself that his affection for me could be managed.
Though I longed to seek his attention, I refrained. Somehow and somewhere along the way, I’d put his needs before my own. Which was how I learned how deeply I’d fallen. Grandmomma was right. Love is an illness, and the first symptom is prioritizing their happiness over yours.
At least we had unprotected sex. At least I’d soon shelter a piece of him—something uniquely Romeo Costa—inside of me.