Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
They must not have recognized me at first. My mask covers more than theirs, but for my plan to work, Phoenix can’t know it’s me right away.
“Likewise, we all thought you were dead?” Matteo says, reaching his hand out, which I shake.
“Did you cry?” I mock.
“Yes. I thought I would have to find someone else to supply me. You know how much I hate negotiating.”
“Asshole.”
“Good to have you back, mate,” James says, next shaking my hand, followed by Tobias.
I spend the next few minutes talking shop with them before I pull Matteo aside.
“Thank you for taking care of that thing for me.” I’m referring to the hit. Matteo cocks his head in confusion, so I lean closer, so only he will hear me. “The hit on Michael Lawrence. Lorenzo said he’d take care of it.”
“Then it must have been.”
I nod and step away. It’s only a moment longer before I am excusing myself to find Phoenix.
The room is filled with people milling around with drinks, appetizers, and masks covering their faces.
It should be impossible to find her in this mess, but it’s not.
I see her right away.
Like the Red Sea parting, there she is, across the room, standing by herself.
She looks gorgeous. Her long gown is the same color as her eyes and also the same color of the lagoon where we fished.
A part of me wants to believe that’s why she chose it.
It dips low in the front, showcasing her small but pert breasts, the material clinging to her tiny frame.
She looks smaller than when she was on my yacht. It appears she hasn’t gained back any of the weight she lost on the island.
Anger flows through me. She’s still unwell, even after all this time.
I should have been there. I should’ve made sure she was okay.
Guilt spreads through my veins, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m striding toward her.
I’m halfway there before I slow my pace.
She hasn’t seen me yet, and here I am, moving like a caveman—no pun intended—toward her. If I go in guns blazing, I’ll ruin everything. She will alert her father, and I will never get to speak to her.
As it turns out, even though I know where she is currently, I don’t put it past Michael to see me as a threat and hide her away. He did manage to hide her from me for years.
Now walking at a normal clip, I make it appear that I’m looking elsewhere when I make my approach.
I’m not sure if she sees me, but when I finally stand in front of her, she gives no indication that she knows it’s me.
Reaching out my hand, I offer it to her.
A silent invitation to dance.
Her large blue eyes find me, and she squints, and I think this is when she figures it out, but with my whole face covered, even most of my eyes, it would be nearly impossible.
She looks around the room, maybe looking for her father to help her.
My game will be over before it starts, but then she inhales deeply and offers me her hand.
Once encased in my own, I walk us toward the dance floor.
I had forgotten how small she was in my arms, and now that I have her in them, I’m not sure I will ever be able to let her go again.
The music changes, and I pull her close.
My hand rests on the small of her back as I lead her around the room.
With the orchestra playing the melody, I move us to the beat, slowly shuffling us closer to the door, to our destination.
Her eyes are closed as she sways.
Probably lost in her own mind, like I am so often.
She doesn’t notice when I lead us to the outskirts of the room—or when I step through the open door, still dancing.
She doesn’t notice when the door starts to shut because the music continues to play in this room. It isn’t until we stop moving, and I place my lips by her ear that she does.
“Did you miss me, little dove?”
45
Alaric
When she doesn’t answer, I press her farther into the room.
“How?” she finally asks, her breath coming out in ragged bursts.
“I would know you anywhere, little dove,” I respond.
She steps back.
I step forward.
Trapping her against the dining room table, I continue my advance until my legs press against hers.
“I missed you.” I look down at her, watching as she inhales deeply at my words. “Did you miss me?”
“No. Not one bit,” she hisses.
My hand reaches forward and cups her jaw, my fingers trailing her exposed red lips. “And that’s what I missed the most. Your fiery little mouth.”
“Stop touching me.”
I trace her skin, remembering every delectable thing about her. I’m not supposed to be doing this. I’m supposed to be saying my piece and then walking away, but now that she’s in my grasp, I can’t.