Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I press her to the wall, her body soft and warm. I can’t get enough.
Then her stomach growls.
I pull back. “Shit. You’re probably starving.”
“I’m all right,” she says breathlessly.
“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her from the bedroom. A very interested Trash follows, his tail twitching as he jumps ahead of us.
“You can cook?” she asks as I open the refrigerator.
“Not much,” I admit.
“Well, you’re in luck.” She scoots up next to me. “I can take it from here.”
I look down at her. “You’re going to cook for me?”
She shrugs. “I might as well. You didn’t hand me over to your brother. I suppose that’s worth a bit of ‘thank you’ food.”
I grit my teeth. “He’s lucky I didn’t break his fucking nose.”
“So are you two on good terms or bad terms?” she asks. “I can’t tell.”
I walk around the island and sit down, never taking my gaze from her. She’s swimming in my shirt, and I can’t even see the boxers on her. But she still looks fucking amazing. How is that? I don’t know. But I can’t stop watching her as she lays out a few items then walks into the pantry.
“Sal is …” I don’t exactly know how to explain him.
“Complicated?” She returns with a small jar of cinnamon, an unopened bag of brown sugar, and half a loaf of bread.
“You could say that. He’s my younger brother. Always trying to prove himself. Typical little brother shit.”
“Plates?” she asks.
I point to the cabinet. “There.”
“Pans?”
“Under the stovetop, but I don’t have a lot to choose from so—”
“This is perfect.” She grabs a stainless steel pan that’s likely never been used. “My family can be complicated too.”
I have no clue what she’s cooking up, but I’m enjoying every move she makes. “I thought the Fernandinos were perfect in every way.” I snort.
She gives me a sharp look over her shoulder. “You’ve been laboring under a misconception. I’m the only perfect one,” she says airily.
A laugh barrels out of me. God, I love her smart mouth.
“You disagree?”
“I didn’t say that.” I lean forward on my elbows.
“Good.” She flips on the burner and puts some butter in the pan, her back to me. “I’m glad you agree.”
She’s something else.
“Anyway, as I was saying, my family can be a mess. Vincent is obsessed with guns and being tough and all that macho bullshit. Leon is obsessed with his hair and his clothes. Gina”—she waves a spatula—“she’s actually wonderful. She’ll be a great mother. Kindhearted to a fault. She listens. Always listens. No matter what nonsense comes out of Vincent’s or Leon’s mouths, she listens. She’s …” She shrugs. “Actually, she’s the perfect one if I’m being honest.”
I ease up behind her, unable to sit and watch anymore. When I touch her waist, she jumps.
“Keep going.” I press my lips to her ear.
“You think you’re getting intel, hmm?” She drops a piece of bread into an egg mixture she has in one of the plates. “That I’m going to give you all the dirt?”
“I can make it even, if you like.”
“How?” She flips the bread, soaking it on each side.
“Sal still sleeps with a blankie.”
She turns her head. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s barely a piece of fabric anymore. Just a tatty bit of blue cloth, but he keeps it under his pillow. If Dad found out—” I sigh, the shadow of my father falling over me. I can’t escape him, even now. Which is an odd thought. I’ve never wanted to escape him. Hell, for a lot of my life, I wanted to be him.
“What?” She turns, her big eyes holding so much. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. But something’s different. Ever since …” I glance at her lips.
She nods slowly. “I know.”
“You feel it too?” I put my heart in that question, my entire soul wrapping around the question mark like a snake.
“Yes.” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. “I feel it.” She sighs. “But it doesn’t make sense. I met you yesterday. Not to mention the fact that you kidnapped me. I shouldn’t feel …” She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t feel anything except hate for you. I should be hitting you with this pan, not cooking for you. I’m being stupid. This is stupid.”
“No.” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re perfect, remember?”
She smiles at that. “Yes. It’s a burden, really.”
I smirk. “But you carry it so well.”
She presses her forehead to my chest. “This is a mess. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I kiss her crown. “It’s … not what I expected. You’re not what I expected.”
“You’re not what I expected either,” she says softly.
I should tell her that I’m exactly who she expected–a Taletti out for blood, a man with no remorse, a killer. But I can’t. Not when she looks at me with trust in her beautiful eyes. I can’t tell her any of that.