Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I had him. The big bastard didn’t expect me to fight back. I hit him hard and got my opening, just the way Peter taught me. Over and over in my head, I think about how I screwed up—how if I had only pulled my gun instead of running, I could’ve salvaged everything.
If I had been strong instead of a coward.
Instead, Peter lost his mind and murdered that thug right there in the bar and obliterated our shot at approaching the captain.
After a while, I clean myself, rinse off, and wrap up in a terrycloth robe. My hair’s wet and my skin’s dewy from lying in the steamy water, and I prod at the wounds on my face. Just when I was starting to heal and look like myself again—right when I was starting to feel pretty or at least approaching something like normal—this happens. I sigh and wonder if I’ll ever look the same again. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
At least Peter still wants to kiss me.
I step out of the bathroom and find him sitting at the end of the bed.
He’s shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight joggers. He’s damp with sweat and his hands are wrapped, which means he was working out on the heavy bag. I know him enough now to realize he does that when he’s angry and frustrated and he doesn’t want to take it out on anyone else. So he takes it out on the bag.
His eyes meet mine as I lean against the doorframe. “You’re in my room.”
“You’re in my house. These are all my rooms.” He doesn’t smile. “Come here. Let me look at you.”
I hesitate. His expression is tense and angry. “Is this a friendly visit?”
“All my visits are friendly.”
I don’t know if I want to get close to him right now, but I find myself drifting over. I feel vulnerable on so many levels, but that vulnerability only makes my heart race faster as I sit down beside him, and it heightens my excitement. He shifts, moves off the bed, and kneels between my legs.
I’m naked under the robe. I suck in a sharp breath as his hands touch my legs. I bite my lip, desire rolling into my core like explosions. Like gunshots. The front of my robe opens slightly, showing a hint of my breasts. But he gingerly touches the wounds on my face, the bruising, the swelling. He talks Greek under his breath and finally shakes his head. “Agapi mou,” he whispers. “What did that fucker do to you?”
“Agapi mou?” I know that phrase. I’ve heard it before. Something inside my heart begins to shiver.
He blinks like he’s realizing what he said. There’s a moment where he stares into my eyes and I can tell he’s wondering if he should take it back, change the subject, say anything else. But I don’t want him to. I want him to own how he feels, to really own it. No more keeping it hidden.
His knuckles brush against my cheek and his fingers slide into my hair.
“It means my love.” I let out a soft whimper, a little gasp. Desire, excitement, confusion, a million things rip through my skin at once. “It’s a pet name in Greek.”
“Since when did you call me that?” I bite my lip harder to try to keep myself under control as his grip in my hair tightens. “I thought I was your little killer.”
That gets a smile. “You are.”
“And also your agapi mou?”
“Maybe.” He tilts his head and his smile fades. I want him to say yes, my love, yes, but nothing is simple with Peter. Nothing is ever easy. And maybe that’s what I like so much about him. “I don’t know what you are, Adrienne. I only know what you make me feel, and it fucking kills me that you got hurt tonight. It makes me want to kill a thousand more men if it would take away your pain. If I could strangle another Filo thug to heal a single bruise, I would.”
“It isn’t your fault. You saved me.”
“Only because I heard you scream, and I still was barely fast enough.” His jaw tightens and he pulls me closer. His other hand presses against my hip. I have to stay calm, I have to keep it together, but the voices in my head are telling me to move closer to him, to wrap my legs around him, to dig my fingers into his muscular and sweaty back. “I can’t let them do that to you again, Adrienne. I want to kill Rastus and everyone in his second-rate family. How dare he touch you, my partner? My little killer?” His thumb runs down my lip. “Agapi mou. I want to burn this fucking island to the ground and let their bones fall to ash. The image of you lying there helpless under that thug, your beautiful face broken, again, it breaks me. It kills me.”