Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 87(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 58(@300wpm)
3
BELLA
Itry to focus on my work. But the brush trembles in my hand.
I feel like Alice in Wonderland.
The bus lopes over the hills. Leaving me here with the man who protected me like it was the only thing he could do. Like any other course of action would be unacceptable.
I know he’s behind me again. At the balcony door, leaning against the wall. His muscles tight with tension like he’s getting ready to explode out of his clothes and pull me into his arms.
Kiss me. Take it further.
I almost laugh out loud.
Would I even be able to handle that?
But I saw his crotch. His rock-hard manhood in his pants. He didn’t even try to hide it. Every time he looks at me, he’s hard. Like he can’t control himself. And I don’t want him to.
When the sky cracks and grey clouds gather, he walks to the railing. Leans against it casually.
But every inch of him is hard hungry marble.
“Looks like a storm is rolling in,” he says. “You better stay for dinner.”
I try for a laugh. It comes out as more of a moan. “You say that like I have a choice.”
He smirks. “Something tells me you want me to take the lead.”
I swallow. He’s hit the bullseye. “You’re not wrong,” I murmur.
He steps forward. Reaches down. Brushes his hand across my face. I gasp and angle my head toward his touch. Electricity sparks over me. He groans as he brushes hair from my cheek.
“Then I’ll take control,” he growls, leaning down.
Before anything can happen—what the hell is going to happen?—a shrill metallic ring comes from somewhere distant, inside the villa.
He tenses.
His demeanor somehow gets darker. He steps back, fists clenched.
“Excuse me, I have to take that,” he groans. “Wish I didn’t, but even men like me have responsibilities.”
“Men like you?” I whisper, as the phone rings and rings.
“Men who have fought and bled and worked to do anything they want.”
He strides into the house.
I turn to my painting, shuddering.
What is this, what am I getting myself into. All I see are the surreal shades of color in the scene I’m working on. Like I’m creating a Salvador Dalí painting, and starting to live in one. I breath, sigh, close my eyes. Press my legs together and feel my clit ache hotly, a point of pure anticipation.
I almost shove my hands between my legs to relieve some of the pressure.
Outside, a storm crashes like fate sent it here. Like something knew that I didn’t want to leave Alex … and he didn’t want me to leave.
I cut into my steak. My knife makes a tsk-tsk noise against the plate as my hand trembles.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Stares like he’d rather feast on me than the steak. My face is still warm from his touch. And now the warmth in other places has new significance, as if he’s touching me there too.
My underwear is holding on for dear desperate life. Soaked through, sticky and uncomfortable. I want him to tear it off. Shred it with his teeth. Kiss my clit and my lips and then …
“So, why a vineyard?” I ask. “How did you afford it? And why did you move to Italy?” A pause. “Sorry—this sounds like an interrogation.”
“I love how curious you are. Don’t apologize for being you, Bella. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
A warm glow whelms in me. “So …”
“Back home, I was a businessman. And my business meant hurting people. Here, now, I get to grow things. I don’t have to be a slave to my darkness. I don’t have to be the man I was. The man that world made me.”
Panic should tear through me. Darkness. Hurting people?
Somehow, it doesn’t.
“What sort of business are we talking about?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never hurt an innocent person. Never once in my life.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s better if you don’t know the specifics,” he says huskily.
I put my knife down. Look at him and try not to flinch. Outside, thunder grumbles as if mirroring the darkness he talked about.
“You don’t think I can take it?”
He reaches across the table. “I think you can take anything I give you.”
His hand finds mine. Warm, rough. I shift in my seat, my dress rubbing against my ass and my legs. My nipples are getting so hard. Can he see them through my bra and dress?
“Do you always hold hands with strangers?” I murmur.
“I don’t hold hands with anyone. I don’t want anyone. I closed off that part of me a long, long time ago. At least, I thought I had …”
My breath comes fast. I pull my hand away. Not because I don’t want him to touch me. But because I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. Make him think I’m somebody I’m not or that I’m capable of doing things I can’t. Or haven’t, not yet anyway.