Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
I'd chosen to stay. Now, pacing the quiet hallway outside Pearl's room, that choice felt more complicated. When Giuliano first outlined this plan, I'd argued against using her as leverage. I'd seen enough of Vittorio's world to know what his control did to people. But watching Pearl these past few days, I'd realized she wasn't just another victim. There was steel under that polished exterior, that's if you knew where to look.
The sound of running water from her bathroom made me lose my train of thought. The frosted glass door offered only a suggestion of movement—a shadow here, a silhouette there. I should step away, come back when she was finished. That would be the professional thing to do. But something kept me rooted in place, my usual self-control wavering.
My mind wandered to dangerous places: the way water would trace down her curves, how her golden hair would darken when wet, what sounds she might make if... Christ. I needed to get a grip. This wasn't like me, letting desire cloud my judgment.
I'd spent years perfecting the art of observation without reaction. It was part of what made me good at my job—the ability to notice everything while remaining detached. But watching that shadowy figure move behind the glass, I felt that detachment slipping.
When the water finally stopped, I straightened, trying to reclaim my professional demeanor. Instead, I found myself holding my breath as the door opened.
Pearl stepped out through curtains of steam, wrapped in a white towel. Her hair, free from its usual careful styling, fell in waves of deep gold past her shoulders. Without Vittorio's prescribed makeup and designer clothes, she looked startlingly real.
"Oh!" She clutched the towel tighter, a blush creeping up her neck. "I didn't..."
"Different rotation tonight." I kept my voice steady despite the heat building under my skin. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Vincenzo."
"The security specialist." She shifted slightly, and I caught the subtle catch in her breath when our eyes met. "I've seen you around."
"Let me give you a moment to change." I forced myself to turn away, though the image of her bare shoulders and slim legs was already burned into my memory.
"Thank you," she murmured, disappearing behind the dressing screen.
When she reemerged minutes later, I forgot how to breathe for a moment. She'd chosen a thin silk camisole and shorts that revealed miles of smooth skin. Her damp hair left water marks on the silk, but it was the notebook clutched in her hand that caught my attention—she'd been writing in the journal, not just primping. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.
"The hot water runs out after ten minutes," she said matter-of-factly. "You might want to fix that."
"Your hair's dripping," I managed, voice rougher than I'd meant.
"I know." She brushed the heavy golden mass over one shoulder, drawing my attention to the elegant line of her neck. "I'm not used to managing it myself. Vittorio's stylist usually..."
"Let me help." I gestured to the vanity chair. Through the mirror, I watched her hesitate for a moment before settling in. Her reflection looked almost shy as I gathered her hair with practiced movements, lifting it away from her neck. My fingers worked through the strands with careful efficiency, separating them into sections.
"You seem... experienced with this." Her eyes met mine in the mirror as I reached for a towel.
"My sister taught me." I began gently drying her hair, mesmerized by how it caught the light— pure gold shot through with darker honey tones. "Said I had good instincts for it."
"Your sister?" Her voice softened as I worked, tension visibly melting from her shoulders.
"Left home young, but she was the one good thing there." I concentrated on each section of hair, watching goosebumps rise on her skin where my fingers brushed her neck. "Had to learn a lot of things—cooking, laundry, hair care."
"She taught you well," she murmured, eyes half-closed as I worked.
"She had to be both sister and mother sometimes." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Her eyes found mine in the mirror. "That must have been hard."
"Life isn't always simple." I reached for her brush, noting how her breath hitched slightly at the first stroke. "Though your situation with Vittorio..."
"Is different." She leaned back slightly, eyes closing as I worked through a tangle. "Sometimes he was almost kind. Like he wanted to be a real father. Other times..."
I watched her pulse flutter at her throat, cataloging every reaction as I brushed. Each stroke seemed to relax her further, making her sink deeper into the chair. When my knuckles grazed her bare shoulder, she shivered.
"Cold?" I asked, though we both knew that wasn't it.
"No," she whispered, opening her eyes to meet mine in the mirror. Something dark and wanting flickered in their blue depths. "The others... they're not what I expected. None of you are."