Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“We can think of another alibi,” Elio says.
“I’m probably wrong about the look Russel gave me anyway. I’m probably reading way too much into that.”
“I’m not taking that risk,” he growls.
He’s not taking that risk, implying he’d care if something happened to me. At first, I thought this came back to the Good Samaritan thing. Now, it seems a whole lot more significant than that.
“Maybe we could try the singing,” I murmur. “What type of music does your dad like?”
“Love songs,” Elio says, with a wry smile, watching the road but really looking into the past. He’s got a dreamy look on his face as though he’s disappearing into a memory. “He always used to say that love songs are the best type for hard men. It reminds them that there’s more to life. It reminds them that it’s okay to be soft sometimes in the right contexts and with the right people. Do you know any love songs?”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. A background track in my mind is whispering that I should be thinking about Mom. I am endlessly wondering, but I should just be thinking about Mom, not this connection, not my embarrassment.
“What is it?” he says.
“What’s what?” I ask.
“Your face just told a whole story.”
“Maybe you should watch the road.”
He laughs huskily. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it feels like a proud laugh. “Is it strange, Scarlet, that I like it when you talk back to me?”
“Maybe you’re just not used to it.”
“True,” he replies. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
“It’s just… I’ve written a few love songs. That’s all.”
He pulls the car up to the side of the road. We’re in the middle of a residential area, a neighborhood a cut above ours. This is the kind of place that doesn’t have people gathered on every corner, nobody warming their hands by a barrel. It’s quiet.
“Let’s hear one, then,” he says.
“Are you serious? No way.”
He smirks. “I didn’t ask you, Scarlet. Sing one of your love songs for me.”
I fold my arms, glaring at him and almost smiling again. This attraction must be on an entirely different level, so intense I’m able to smile at him now. Mom, Mom, Mom should be the only thing on my mind.
“This will help find your mom,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “The alibi will keep you safe, giving me the time I need.”
“Are they really going to believe you hired a live-in singer?” I ask.
“Yes,” Elio says confidently, reaching over and touching my leg. A tantalizing tingle dances up my thigh and teases my core. “That’s how rich assholes like us live.”
“You’re not an asshole,” I say.
He smirks. “But I am rich. Trust me, they’ll believe it if…”
“It’s okay. You can say it. If I’m good enough.”
“We can think of another alibi, but something tells me we won’t need to.”
“Oh, really?”
“There’s no way your voice isn’t as angelic as you are.”
I shake my head, almost as if to push away my natural reaction. I can’t stop the stupid grinning. “If I do this, will you find my mom?”
“I’m going to find her anyway,” he quickly replies.
“But it will help?”
He squeezes my leg. “Stop delaying. I’ve already told you it will.”
“It’s hard to sing sitting down,” I tell him. When he reaches for the car door, I quickly say, “But I can do it.”
I don’t want anybody else to hear me. It’s going to be difficult enough doing it in front of Elio—a stranger. Yet he doesn’t feel like as much of a stranger as he should. It must be the kissing, the steaminess.
“Don’t laugh, okay?”
“I’m not going to laugh at you,” he snarls, sounding pissed. “Sing for me, Scarlet.”
I start tapping my hand against my leg, humming softly, getting ready to make a complete fool of myself. At least I can tell myself I’m doing it for Mom.
CHAPTER 10
Elio
She doesn’t have any idea how beautiful she is as she taps her leg, humming. My savage mind tries to return to earlier, when my hand was between her thighs, rubbing her to completion. The sounds she was making, but my woman deserves more than just lust. She deserves attention, too—heat of a different sort.
“I never knew I loved you,” she sings quietly, her voice shaking, her eyebrows raised as if asking me if she should keep going. I nod firmly. “I never knew who you were…” She gets more confident, letting her voice fill the car. I was right. She sounds like an angel. “How can I love a stranger? Oh, my heart is in danger…”
Her confidence increases even more, her voice getting louder, more beautiful, more perfect. I watch—the luckiest audience of one who’s ever lived—beyond enthralled.
“That was incredible,” I tell her once she’s done.
She pouts at me. I lean forward, kissing her passionately, pressing my hands down on her hips, holding her tightly, holding her with meaning. “It was perfect,” I growl. “So don’t pout at me like that. Who was the song about? Who’s this stranger?”