Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Dante,” she whispered.
“I can’t stand the thought of you hurt,” I confessed. “I need you safe.”
“I’m safe with you. I’m always safe with you. I knew it from the first moment.”
“I need you.”
She pressed her lips to mine. “Have me.”
I pulled her back. My pants were pushed down, her robe parted. I slid inside her, and she dropped her head to my shoulder.
“You feel so good,” she murmured. “So big and hard inside me.”
I slouched down, going deeper. Stroking the inside of her, feeling the way she gripped me. Every time I was with her, it felt like the first time, the wonder and intensity still strong.
We moved and rocked, neither of us talking. Our breathing was heavy, the low groans, grunts, and moans filling the air.
She gripped the back of my neck with a sob, and she came. Tight and wet around me, setting off my own orgasm. I clutched her to me until I was spent, and she slumped against my chest.
“Calmer now?” she whispered.
“I still want to teach him a lesson.”
“Please let it go. For me.”
I kissed her head. “For you. For now.”
After a moment, she sighed. “I guess a shower is needed now.”
I stood, taking her with me and yanking up my pants. “I’ll join you.”
She snuggled closer. “Okay.”
The blue dress she wore for dinner had longer sleeves, which covered the marks. I was grateful since as soon as I spied them, my first impulse was to go and find Winters and leave the same marks all over his body. The bruises had grown darker as the day wound down, and my anger burned hotter each time I saw them.
She had her hair down, her makeup was simple, and she wore the necklace I gave her.
She was perfection.
She was quieter than usual, the events of the day no doubt playing on her mind. I held her hand in the car and escorted her into the restaurant.
Richard was already there, looking his usual taciturn self. He rose from his chair, shaking my hand, and I introduced Brianna. She smiled benignly and said hello, sitting beside me.
We ordered drinks and made small talk. Richard kept glancing at Brianna, often asking her direct questions. He talked more than I was used to. She kept her answers short, sipping her wine too quickly. I leaned over, murmuring in her ear.
“Slow down, Little Bee. Everything is fine.” I gathered her hand in mine, and she relaxed a little. I didn’t want her drunk. I had a feeling that would be a recipe for disaster. The word kidnapped would definitely come up.
“Canadian, are you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What part?”
“Toronto.”
“Such a metropolitan town. I enjoy visiting the city.”
“And where are you from, Mr. Wiggles?”
“New York is home now. I grew up in California.”
“Big difference,” she replied.
“Yes. But I enjoy both.”
“Ah.” More wine disappeared.
He kept peppering her with questions, and her answers became a little longer. She even laughed at a joke he cracked. I’d never heard him try to be funny. I looked between them, trying not to smile. Richard, it seemed, was enamored with my little bee. I had never heard him make so much small talk. Yet, oddly enough, I felt no animosity from him, no challenge to our relationship, and, surprisingly, no sexual interest in Brianna. Simply honest curiosity.
We ordered dinner, and he and I spoke of the acquisition of the sculpture. “All has checked out, and I have advised the family of a fair price and that you would be an honorable man to deal with. It was a favorite piece of their father’s, but none of them is fond of it. But they want to know it goes to someone who would appreciate it the way their father did. I assured them you did.”
“I’m grateful to you for that. May I have my lawyers get in touch with the offer? It will match your evaluation.”
“I value your trust.”
“I’m thankful for your help.”
“Have you seen his galleries, Brianna?” Richard asked.
“Two of them,” she said.
“The one in London is spectacular. You should take her there, Dante.”
I smiled in acknowledgment. “One day.”
“His private collection—has he shared those?”
“Some.”
“You must mean a great deal to him, then. How long have you been together?”
She frowned. “That’s a rather private question, Mr. Wiggles.”
He winked at her, and I gaped. I had never seen him wink. Smile. Almost flirt, although he looked at her in a more fatherly way. And he acted as if he was trying to make her…comfortable?
“Mr. Wiggles is my father. Call me by my first name.”
She picked up her glass, taking a sip.
He leaned closer. “Dick. My friends call me Dick.”
The wine in her mouth sprayed wide across the table, hitting him, the cloth, and everything in between. She stared, wide-eyed, then began to laugh.
“Dick Wiggles,” she squeaked.
I shut my eyes.
I should have known it was going too well.