Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
"I thought the same some of the times I visited the States," Christopher told me, eyes scanning the landscape. A little paranoid, I decided, but I really couldn't blame him. If someone on my team tried to kill me, I wasn't sure I could ever feel like I could trust someone again. "New York and Montana might as well be different countries as well."
"That's fair. It's a big country."
"Did you grow up in... Nave-uh..."
"Nav-uh-sink," I corrected. "Navesink Bank? No. I grew up in New York City."
"Why did you leave?" he asked, and it was maybe the most he had tried to engage me in conversation since we'd met.
"Bad memories," I offered because it was true, and I found I wanted to share that with him.
"Spots one-through-five?" he asked.
"The first and fourth spots, at least," I agreed, shrugging as we climbed inside another SUV, the closeness of the others making private conversation impossible, so we both fell silent.
The drive was about forty-five minutes, the road rough, making our bodies jostle around, making me need to grit my teeth to keep them from knocking together.
We drove past the final town, and up higher on a mountain, a long slate-roofed home coming into view.
Home was a bit tame of a word for what it was.
Really, it probably was originally built as a sort of resort.
Like all the other homes in the area, the walls and roofs were made of stone as well. A long, walled porch wrapped around the entire building, likely offering breathtaking views of the world below. Giant flower pots lined the porch, a miniature potted garden of various greenery and flowers, some of which I was beginning to recognize from Cora showing them to me at the cave house. Oregano. Basil. Rosemary. If I was going to be in charge of cooking, I would need all the spice help I could get.
"Do we have to run and hide inside here too?" I asked, feeling dread seep in at the idea of only having seeing this view through a window.
"No," Christopher told me, climbing out of the car, reaching in for my hand to help me out. "This house is still in the owner's name, though I paid him for it. It used to be a wellness retreat. He got too old to keep it up. And I needed somewhere safe in case Santorini became dangerous."
"Smart," I told him, realizing he had yet to drop my hand even as we started walking up the long drive toward the house. Even noticing it myself, I chose to keep my hand in his even though every part of me knew things were only going to get more and more complicated if I didn't keep firm boundary lines in place.
Just as we were stepping onto the deck, the front door burst open, bringing out a trio of yipping dogs, and a short, stout man with a charmingly balding head and hangover waistline.
"There you are!" he said, arms raised, making a beeline for Christopher. And, I kid you not, reaching for his cheeks, pulling him down, and air kissing both his cheeks.
There was no stopping the smile that spread across my face, even as the slight flush crept across Christopher's. Because, really, who in their right mind grabbed the face of a crime lord and kissed their cheeks? It was amazing. And the fact that Christopher was so clearly thrown off and embarrassed by it made it all the better. "This," the man said, looking at me, "this is a good man, yes?"
"I, ah, yeah," I agreed, nodding. I wanted to claim it was because I was put on the spot. But there wasn't really much debating the matter, was there? He was a good man. A man who would go to any lengths to save his brother, who defended those in his care, who treated his employees with respect, who made sure you were as comfortable as possible while in his home? Those were traits of good men.
As for keeping me a bit against my will? Well, I had to admit, it was a move I probably could have seen one of the guys at my work doing if they thought it was the only way to get what they needed, or to protect their women. And if I wouldn't fault them for doing it, it was hard for me to continue finding fault in Christopher for doing the same thing.
"This is Antony. Antony, this is Miss Miller," Christopher supplied.
"Nice to, ah, meet you," Antony said, giving me a warm smile.
Assuming he was the previous owner, I gave the place another scan, then gave him a smile. "This is a beautiful home," I told him.
"Oh, thank you, thank you. It was not so nice when Christopher here came in. He made it very nice again."