Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
I sigh, returning my attention to the impeccable grounds of Danny’s Miami mansion. So perfect. So colorful. But outside these walls?
I hear movement from the room next door. Danny’s room. I bite my lip, knowing what I would see if I were a fly on the wall. My husband stamping around searching for me.
I creep back to the French doors, my eyes nailed to the other terrace, as I hear him curse me to hell. The sound of something hitting the wall sounds, and then he bursts out onto the terrace. His expression, one of fear and fury, tells me all I need to know. He thought I’d run out on him.
He finds me on the threshold of the doors, holding the frame, nervous as shit, although trying so hard not to show it. Fuck, he’s angry. On the warpath. I find my shoulders pushing back as a result of that conclusion. I’m ready. Bring it on, Black. But unlike the times we’ve sparred and I’ve automatically pulled my armor into place, I don’t need to do that anymore. I’m exposed. Vulnerable. But only to him.
He approaches the glass dividing the two terraces, his dark hair damp, curled slightly where it’s meeting his nape. It’s not the short, tidy cut he had when we met. But what’s never changed is the fire in his icy stare. Whether he’s livid with me, burning for me, laughing with me, there’s always fire. He is fire. Danny Black is an unadulterated, uncontrollable inferno. “What are you doing in there?” he asks, slipping his hands into his pockets, probably to restrain them from strangling me.
“It’s my room.” I lift my chin, confident in my stance.
“This is your room,” he retorts, jerking his head back in gesture to the space behind him. “Our room. Don’t make me drag you back, Rose. I’m tired. Moody. I need a good fuck, a cuddle, and my mum’s homemade stew.”
“I’m not hungry, I’m not horny, and I don’t need a cuddle.” I must be out of my fucking mind pushing his buttons like this. Out. Of. My. Mind. The scar on his face deepens. It’s my measure, my way of assessing what level of rage I’m dealing with. Right now, it’s breaking the spectrum.
I see his body engage, and I back up, but before I’ve even made it past the door, he’s cleared the railings dividing the terrace, catapulting his body over using one hand on the bar as leverage, and is coming at me like a bull. I don’t bother running. I won’t get very far.
Coming to an abrupt stop before me, his toes touching mine, he blows angry breaths into my face. My eyes narrow. Naturally, my skin prickles, heat washing over me, and it’s got nothing to do with the heat of his anger. He snarls, reaching for my hair and fisting it. I smirk to myself, jarring my head, goading him. His snarl falters. A dirty, wicked smirk slowly forms. “Why’d you do it to me, baby?” He bends fast and hauls me up over his shoulder. “Don’t answer that. I already know.” Stalking to the door, he swings it open. “You want attention, don’t you?”
I snort, and it’s pathetic, because it’s true. I’ve been spoiled for three years, been my husband’s be all and end all, and now I have half of Miami’s criminal underworld to compete with for his attention. That’s pretty pathetic too, even having that thought, and yet here I am thinking it. I want to go back to St. Lucia and resume our bliss, not return to the blood, death, fear, and twisted clashes that brought us together in the first place.
“Excuse me,” Danny says, and I wedge my hands into his lower back, looking up and trying to see through the hair covering my face. I catch a glimpse of Beau and James in the corridor, their backs against the wall to give Danny room to pass with me dangling over his shoulder. “My mum’s cooked a stew if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks.” James takes Beau’s hand and leads her on, and she looks back over her shoulder on a small, sad smile. She’s not fully recovered, her stomach still tender, her spirit still dull. I know not because she’s griped about it, nor even cried. But because I’ve observed her many times holding her tummy, falling into thought. Her despondency gives me a kick up the ass. I’ve not lost anything, and I won’t. Not knowing Danny as I know him. But Beau has. She’s lost so much.
God damn me.
I swallow, letting my head slump down, feeling ashamed of myself. I hear the door slam. Feel his hands on my hips. I’m lifted and tossed onto the bed, and I come to rest and brush the hair out of my face, finding him standing at the end, arms limp by his sides, his face impassive. “I’ll be your punching bag, Rose. I’ll take everything you have to give. In private.” His hand comes up, his finger pointing at me. “But you will stow away your fists in public, you got it?”