Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
He holds out his hand. I automatically start to hand him what I’m holding. Then I remember what it is. The money. More money than I’ll ever have in my life.
“What?” he asks. His associates or cousins or whatever are watching us. I step a little closer into Royal’s sphere, close enough that the heat of him emanates onto my frozen face.
“I don't even know you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “I'm going to change that.” He leans back a little, just enough that I miss the heat of him. He shrugs out of his coat and slings it around my shoulders, tucks it closed. “You shouldn't be out in this snow.”
The wind blows harder. The snow’s falling in wet clumps, catching on my lashes and melting on my cheeks, leaving my skin bitterly numb.
“What is it you want from me?” I can barely get the words out with my jaw clenched against the cold.
“I want to fix it,” he says. I'm good at fixing things, he said back in the bakery.
And I don't know what it is: the gentle darkness of his eyes, the way the snowflakes caught on his long lashes, or the way he’s standing in shirt sleeves with snow dusting the slopes of his shoulders—He took off his coat for me. Again—but I trust him.
I get that sense again, like I’m standing at a precipice, looking down. But instead of dizzy, I feel Royal’s presence by my side. And I know he won’t let me fall.
Surrounded by that subtle freshwater perfume, I stop thinking. Snow’s frosting his black hair. He looks too beautiful to be real. But he is real, and it feels right, totally natural, to raise my hand and hand him the sack of cash.
Royal doesn’t blink. He doesn’t even look at the bag. In one move, he takes it from me and hands it off to one of his clones. He snaps his fingers. “Take care of it,” he orders his associates without taking his eyes off me.
The guys turn as one, and start walking towards office 1804.
“What does that mean?” I ask, staring up at Royal. “What do you mean by take care of it?”
“Come,” he says, crowding forward. “Let's get you out of the cold.”
“You mean get you out of the cold,” I say, because I’m getting concerned. He's a big strapping man, but surely standing out here in shirtsleeves in a snowstorm is bad for him, unless he has some sort of polar bear DNA.
Royal chuckles. He’s walking with me—escorting me, really—with his arm around my waist. We’re heading in the opposite direction to his associates, towards a big black Escalade. He opens the back car door and bundles me into his arms, lifting me right off my feet. Inside the car the air is blissfully warm, and I half melt onto the heated leather seats.
The door slams and Royal’s scent fills the backseat. His big body crowds into my space. I’m scooting my butt back to make room when something cracks in the distance.
“Oh my god.” I flinch, my hands flying to cover my head. I don't live in a great neighborhood and the sound of gunshots is familiar. It’s different from the sound of a backfiring car.
Royal’s expression changes not a bit. With another rat-tat-tat round of bullets sounding off in the general area of office 1804, he shuts the door and nods to the driver—a big guy with a shaved head I didn’t even notice before now.
More gunfire pops as the Escalade glides from the curb.
“It’s okay, baby.” Royal puts his arm around me. “I'll take care of you.”
My teeth are chattering again.
“Let's get you out of these.” He strips off my mittens and starts rubbing my stiff fingers. “Where's your winter coat?” he chides.
“I don't have one.” The car’s heat vents are blowing full blast. The warmth makes my skin prickle, as if my body is waking up from being so numb. It hurts. I blink back sudden tears.
“My poor angel,” he says. “Principessa mia.” He tucks my hands against him.
The Escalade has rounded a corner. The snowy square, the fountain, office 1804—they’ve all disappeared. With every passing second, I’m growing warmer. Relief runs through me.
“What was that back there?” I ask before I can stop myself. “The gunshots.”
“Stefanos has owned this territory for a long time,” Royal answers without blinking. “He won't go down without a fight.”
I shrink back on the seat. Why is he telling me this?
“Don't be afraid, princess.”
“I should give you your coat back.” I start to squirm and shrug out of it but he stops me.
“You're still cold.” He tugs the coat back onto my shoulders and tucks me into his side. “You have snow on your cheeks. In your hair.” His voice rises and falls, lulling me closer. He brushes his hand over my head, and I can’t help but lean into his palm. “Reminds me of sugar.” He leans in and his lips brush mine. A jolt runs through me, and then a rush of heat that warms me better than the fancy heated seats.