Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Francesca brushed at the tears on her face. “You aren’t fucked up.”
“Honey.” He gave her the endearment softly. “I’m making a point here that you need to think about and then discuss with Stefano. He doesn’t give a damn about anything but you. Tell him how you feel, why carrying his babies yourself was so important, because he clearly doesn’t get that. I wouldn’t. He’ll think you’re crazy, but he’ll love you all the more for it. He’ll also reassure you in ways I can’t that it doesn’t matter to him. The gift of you, of having you and you loving him, is more than enough. Just do this for me, Francesca. I swear I’m right about this. I hate that you’re hurting, and you don’t realize how important and loved you are.”
Francesca stood and came round the table to circle his neck and lean into him. “I’ll talk to him, Geno. Thank you. I love you so much.” She kissed his cheek and then bent down to do the same to Amaranthe. “Good night, everyone.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Clouds trailed across the moon when Geno woke. He hadn’t lowered the privacy screen yet. He was used to waking several times at night. He often walked outside on the balcony overlooking the river just to breathe in the air. Now when he took a deep breath, it was Amaranthe he breathed into his lungs. The scent of her. That subtle, unique fragrance he had to be close to smell.
He lay in bed, feeling her body next to him. That delicate feminine form. Women had soft, beautiful bodies shaped so differently from men. Amaranthe had braided her hair in a loose weave and the braid lay curled against the dark pillowcase spotlighted by the moon peeking out of the drifting clouds. Because she had thick hair, it was still a little damp from her shower earlier, before dinner. He loved the fact that her hair could be all curls and what she considered frizz when she didn’t tame it. He didn’t want her taming it. But then, when she was all prim and proper for her dancing, he had to admit he loved that look as well.
He had looked up every single video on YouTube he could find of her performances. He’d been shocked at how many there were. When he first had woken from his poisoned state and the doctor hadn’t allowed him to do much but lie in his bed, his body responding sluggishly to the commands of his brain, he had used that time to watch her dance. She had stolen his breath—then his heart.
When she moved across the stage in her costumes, completely consumed by whatever character she played, she seemed an ethereal creature from another dimension. Watching her perform, he couldn’t imagine her as an assassin, stalking her prey through the shadows. She was too beautiful, far too delicate and alluring. One of the things that struck him is reviews repeatedly said her performances could bring tears to those watching her every time. She was exquisite in whatever role she was given.
Amaranthe lay on her side, so slight she took up little room in his bed, barely there, yet dominating the space. She wore a silk crop top with a pair of little boy shorts he was certain she didn’t need. The clothes were more for her modesty than anything else. He found the way she was such a mixture of pure confidence—his fierce warrior and beautiful dancer—and introverted woman fascinating. But then, he found everything about her captivating.
He bent his head close to her bare skin to draw her into his lungs with every breath. His heart stuttered. Accelerated. Began to race. He needed to take time to commit every single inch of her to skin-to-skin contact, to imprint her on the pads of his fingers and know her on his lips. Already he could taste her in his mouth. She had set up an addiction with that first kiss. Who knew, when he had been with so many other women, that one taste of Amaranthe would wipe out every other woman who had come before? He couldn’t remember a single one.
He craved her. Every inch of her. He wanted a slow burn, not a roaring fire. Eventually, that would come. How could it not when she sent flames rushing through his veins like a wildfire? His cock hardened into an unrelenting ache, reminding him he was alive and with the woman he not only loved but desired. This slow exploration was perfection.
Geno pushed the back of her silk crop top up to her shoulders to reveal her spine. He used the tips of his fingers, going very slowly, much like opening a gift, because that was what she was to him. She had such a beautiful, feminine line. He brushed the pads of his fingers very lightly, seductively, from her shoulder to the curve of her buttocks, following her spine, deliberately awakening every nerve ending he could.