Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Because rationality was what this situation required.
I couldn't just go around sleeping with high-ranking members of the Cosa Nostra.
For God's sake.
Even thinking of it should have been absurd, impossible.
Yet here we were.
Here I was.
Wondering what Luca's lips would feel like on my neck, my shoulder blade, my breast, my stomach, my inner thigh. What his weight would feel like pressing me into the mattress. If he would be as uncontrolled in bed as he was with a simple kiss.
All those thoughts continued to assault me even as I tried to remind myself that it was a bad idea, it could screw up an already tense situation, and doing so could hinder my ability to find and save my sister
That couldn't happen.
Which meant Luca and I couldn't happen either.
Now someone just needed to get that message to my poor body. Because it clearly wasn't getting the memo.
On a sigh, I climbed back out of bed, moving through the quiet house. It was deceptively quiet, though, because I knew there were armed guards around, even if I couldn't see them.
The remnants of our impromptu card game had been cleaned up.
A bottle of whiskey was on the center of the table with a bow and note on it.
Curious, I made my way over, finding quick, sloppy handwriting.
Without knowing, I knew it was either Matteo or Lucky.
Went and stole this from the restaurant. I think you need it. - M.
I felt a smile tug at my lips.
I was a guest here.
And hospitality didn't mean you took as freely as you wished. Especially of things meant for someone else.
That said, I was pretty sure the only thing that could help my current predicament was a stiff drink.
I grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchen, pouring myself a generous cup.
I didn't like whiskey.
I didn't like any hard liquor.
At least not straight.
But desperate times...
I threw it back, coming up spitting as it burned all the way down.
"Gross," I declared as I poured myself another—much smaller—cup, hoping that it would help me sleep, if nothing else.
I had thought Luca had come home already, but then the door flew open, making my stomach drop for a second until he came in.
And then there he was.
In nothing but low-slung basketball shorts, leaving his entire midsection on display, sweat slick over the hard lines of abdominal muscles. And, as I stared, a single bead of sweat slipped down between his pecs, down his abs, tracing the little happy trail as it disappeared under the waistband of his pants.
God.
God.
A little whimper worked its way up my throat and out, barely audible to my own ears, but Luca's eyes seemed to blaze at the sound of it somehow.
His gaze slid over my red with white polka dot pajama set, then to my hand, then the table, taking in the bottle I'd shamelessly been pilfering from.
"Matteo?" he asked, still not advancing into the room.
"He stole it from your restaurant," I told him.
To that, I got a snort with a head shake. "Of course he did," he said. "Alright. I have to shower," he said, voice a little rough before rushing away.
Did I watch his back— and ass—as he walked away? Yes, yes I did. Adding further insult to injury, my poor body cried in desperation as I poured myself a third drink, taking it to my room.
It didn't end up doing any good for the need swirling through my system, but it did eventually knock me the hell out.
Which was just as good.
Except my dreams were plagued with images and sounds of hands sinking into soft flesh, of murmured Italian words in my ear, leaving me writhing in bed until I woke up in tangled sheets, my body overheated despite the air conditioning blasting from the vents.
I lay there disoriented for a long couple of minutes, squinting at the brightness of the room before it clicked that it was later than usual for me to be rising.
Folding up, I searched for my phone, finding it knocked on the ground under the bed.
The time on it said ten minutes after eleven in the morning.
Eleven.
I wasn't sure I had slept past ten since I was a child.
I slid my phone unlocked, squinting at my screen when a text screen popped up.
I didn't remember texting anyone recently.
Yet there it was.
A chat bubble staring me right in the face.
With words I had no memory of texting, likely doing so more than a little drunk and very, very tired, a combination that made complete delirium entirely possible.
You can't just kiss people like that.
"No," I hissed, scrolling the text up, praying it was just something I'd texted to an ex or something.
But no.
Because there was the picture of my sister that Luca had texted to himself from my phone.
"Oh, God," I groaned, pressing my phone to my chest, eyes closing, humiliation blanketing my system. It chased away the desire, sure, but it was no more comfortable, no more tolerable.