Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“I can’t kill you with diamonds.” My tease is far less sassy than intended. “And they’re not simple.” They’re perfect…but I didn’t mean to say that.
My eyes slice to his and he tips his head a little, regarding me in this lazy, sexy way he’s seemed to perfect.
Enzo holsters his weapon, moving to the balcony to step out and look over the railing, so I grab the gun he dropped when I stabbed him with the heel and carry it over to the bed, setting it beside me as I lower on top. He glances back, taking in the freshly made bed with a frown, his gaze falling to the pillow pad beneath his feet.
“You slept outside.”
I purse my lips, nodding. “I’m realizing now that may not have been the best idea.”
“A real threat would never make it as far as this balcony.”
“There are always weak spots to be found,” I repeat my father’s famous words.
“Not where your security is concerned,” he promises, eyes holding strong on my face before lowering, reminding me I’m in nothing but a satin cami and short set.
I jump up, walking backward into the closet, if only to hide my imperfections.
“Um.” I grab a robe and tie it around me before stepping into the bathroom. “Let me fix the mess I made before you stain something.”
Enzo frowns until he sees the first aid kit, and when I point to the edge of the bed, I swear a grin ghosts his lips as he does what he’s told. I half wonder if it’s the first time in his life he’s ever listened but decide against asking as much.
It’s a perfect circle of a cut, right over the bone of his left forearm. It’s not a spot that bleeds much, yet I still nod to myself, impressed with the damage. I bet those heels would go through someone’s neck if need be. Now that would be a bloody mess.
“At least it won’t affect your dominant hand.”
“So, you do pay attention to me.”
“You’re kind of hard to miss.”
“No more than you’re impossible to.”
My hand freezes a moment, but I snap out of it, tearing open the alcohol wipe and dabbing at the wound before stepping back.
“What, no Band-Aid?” he teases.
I roll my eyes and a low chuckle leaves him; it’s a soft, easy sound I don’t hate.
He looks around the room then, assessing the way I live. He takes note of how my cappuccino cup is sitting beneath the spout, waiting for me to simply press the button to get it going, and at the pair of slippers at the very edge of the bed. He looks to the book sitting beside the bedside lamp, a Post-it note tucked inside as a placeholder, and to the one lying open and upside down on the balcony. He notices the desk that’s still shoved against one side and the bed pushed farther than it should be, no longer even with the center of the wall.
Confusion creases his forehead, but his eyes continue to roam, and mine fall to the strong stretch of his neck. To the tattoo there.
To my mark.
Hesitantly, I reach up, my fingers shaking as I skate them along his skin.
Enzo jolts with shock and I hold still, but then he stretches his neck further, his legs falling open wider. With a steady breath, I step closer, applying a little more pressure with my touch.
In my peripheral, Enzo’s eyes close, and a smile twitches at my lips, but I pull them between my teeth to keep it at bay.
Big bad Enzo Fikile can’t possibly be touch-starved, can he?
“It’s starting to scab. You need to put some salve on it.”
He hums, not moving a fraction of an inch. “Been meaning to.”
I go to step back, but eyes closed and all, his hand latches around my wrist.
“I…I’ll be right back,” I tell him and I’m not sure why I think he wants to confirm as much, but when he gives a single, curt nod, letting me go, I decide it was the right thing to say.
Stepping into the bathroom, I pull in a long breath, willing my hands to stop shaking as I dig open the small drawer in the vanity, pulling out the little jar.
When I turn around, now facing the open doorway, a sharp inhale fills my lungs.
Enzo is tracking my every move and continues to do so as I slowly make my way back. His legs are still wide open, so I gingerly step between them, holding the bottle up for him to read when he gives it a questioning glance.
He lifts a brow, looking from it to me. “Why do you have tattoo salve?”
I smirk, unscrewing the lid and dipping my finger inside. So, Grandma didn’t ask permission to get the things I asked for from the department store.