Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
She was wrong. So wrong.
Oh, Mama.
For now she is safe with Mister Maxim. She struggles into the pj top, which is too big. She undoes her braid, shakes out her hair, then tries to tame it with her fingers but gives up. Gathering her clothes under one arm, she opens the door.
Mister Maxim’s room is larger and airier than the other bedroom. It’s also off-white, but here the furniture is polished wood, matching the sleigh bed that dominates the room. He is standing on the far side of the bed, and his eyes widen as he studies her. “There you are,” he says, his voice husky. “I was wondering if I should send a search party.”
Her gaze drifts from his startling green eyes to the tattoo on his arm. She has only glimpsed parts of it before, but even from across the room she can see the design.
A two-headed eagle.
Albania.
“What?” He follows her stare and looks down at his tattoo. “Oh. This,” he says. “It’s a folly of youth.” He sounds a little embarrassed, and he frowns, seemingly puzzled by her keen interest. She can’t take her eyes off the ink as she walks toward him. He raises his elbow so she can have a better look.
Inscribed across his biceps is a black shield bearing the image of an ivory two-headed eagle hovering over five yellow circles that are in the shape of an inverted V. Alessia places her clothes on the footstool at the end of the bed and raises her hand to touch his arm, glancing at Maxim for permission.
* * *
I hold my breath as she traces the outline of my tattoo, her finger skirting across my skin, her light touch echoing through my body, toward my groin, and I suppress a groan.
“This is the symbol for my country,” she whispers. “The two-headed eagle is on the Albanian flag.”
What are the odds?
I grit my teeth. I’m not sure how long I can bear her touch without reciprocating.
“But not these yellow circles,” she adds.
“There’re called bezants.” I sound really hoarse.
“Bezant.”
“Yes. It represents a coin.”
“In Albanian, we have the same word. Why do you have this tattoo? What does it mean?” Alluring eyes peer up at me.
What can I say?
This is the shield from my family’s coat of arms.
I don’t want to explain my family’s heraldry at three o’clock in the morning. And the truth is, I had the tattoo done to piss off my mother. She hates them…but of the family coat of arms? How could she complain?
“Like I said, a youthful folly.” My eyes stray from her eyes to her lips. I swallow. “It’s too late to discuss this now. Let’s sleep.” I toss back the quilt on the bed and step aside so that she can climb in. She obliges, revealing long, slender legs beneath the pajama shirt that is way too big for her.
This is torture.
“What is this word ‘folly’?” she asks as I walk around the bed. She’s propped herself up on her elbow, and her glorious dark hair falls in a riot of loose waves over her shoulders, past the contour of her breasts, and onto the bedding. She looks gorgeous, and I’m going to have to keep my hands off her.
“ ‘Folly’ in this case means a foolish action,” I say as I join her in bed. I almost snort at the irony of my word definition.
If sleeping next to this beautiful girl isn’t folly, I don’t know what is.
“Folly,” she whispers as she lays her head on the pillow. I dim the bedside light so it glows in the darkness, but I don’t switch it off, just in case she wakes again.
“Yes. Folly.” I lie down and close my eyes. “Go to sleep.”
“Good night,” she whispers, her voice soft and sweet. “And thank you.”
I groan. This is going to be torture. I turn on my side, away from her, and start counting sheep.
I’m lying on the lawn near the towering stone wall that surrounds the kitchen garden at Tresyllian Hall.
The summer sun warms my skin.
The scent from the lavender that rings the lawn and the sweet fragrance of the roses that climb the wall waft over me.
I’m warm.
I’m happy.
I’m home.
A girlish laugh catches my attention.
I turn my head, drawn to the sound, but I’m blinded by the sun and can see her only in outline. Her long, raven hair blows in the breeze, and she’s swathed in a translucent blue housecoat. It billows out around her slim silhouetted figure.
Alessia.
The scent of the flowers intensifies, and I close my eyes to inhale their sweet, intoxicating perfume.
When I open them, she’s gone.
* * *
I wake with a start. Morning is bleeding through the cracks between the blinds. Alessia has trespassed onto my side of the bed, and she’s nestled under my arm, her hand balled in a fist on my abdomen, her head on my chest. Her leg intertwined with mine.