Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You don’t worry about that?”
He let the smoke leave his mouth before he answered. “No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t expect to live long—nor do I desire it.” When he spotted the waitress in the window, he waved her over. “I’ll take a scotch on the rocks. And whatever she’s having.”
I ordered my drink, and she left.
The last thing he said hadn’t left my mind. “Why do you feel that way?”
He looked as he let the cigar rest between his fingertips, and the strength of his stare seemed to be his answer—or lack thereof.
I didn’t press the question again, remembering we’d met just a few hours ago and I wasn’t entitled to such personal information. “Are you a cop?”
A smile that lit up all his features hit his face, and when he chuckled, it came from deep in his chest. “No.”
“It seemed like they knew you.”
“Oh, they know me.”
“But you aren’t a cop.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “There are more than cops and bandits. The food web is a lot bigger than most people realize.”
“And where do you fit in this food web?”
He took another puff of his cigar. The waitress came out and brought our drinks before she returned to the warmth inside the restaurant. He glanced out at the darkness and the sycamore trees that lined the sidewalk before he looked at me again. “At the top.”
I didn’t consider my husband to be a criminal because he didn’t kill people, but he made his money in less than notable ways. He and his guys stole famous pieces of art and replaced them with fakes because they sold the originals on the black market for a pretty penny. There were men out there with real van Goghs, da Vincis, and Michelangelos in their bathrooms—while the museums had counterfeits. Now I suspected Bastien was on a whole different—and dangerous—level. “The less I know, the better.”
“Smart girl.” He released the smoke from his mouth and let it float on the cool air. “And you’ve got a steely spine too. I like that.”
“How so?”
“Most women would just put up with a man’s infidelity so they could live in a big house and drive a nice car. But not you. You’re an idealist, a woman of great moral character, who knows she’s worth more than a man’s bullshit. That’s hot.”
I held his stare but felt the warmth in my cheeks. Everyone I knew had told me to take Adrien back, that it was a one-time mistake and I should fight for the marriage. While there were times I considered it, letting it go didn’t sit right with me.
“And you held your ground with that asshole. Didn’t scream or cry.”
“Make no mistake, I was fucking scared.”
“But you didn’t show it.” He lowered the cigar and gave me a harder stare than he had before, full of authority and command. “And that’s what matters. You reached for that wine bottle with every intention to kill—and you swung.” He took a drink, wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and then smiled. “And that’s fucking hot.”
My apartment was right next to Poppy Café, so literally just a few feet away from the restaurant. He walked me to the front door, painted green with two trees in planters on either side. It required a code to come and go, and the door weighed at least one hundred pounds and required two hands every time I had to open or close it.
He stopped several feet away from the door like he had no intention of coming inside. “Are you going to keep working at Silencio?”
I needed the job to keep the apartment, so I couldn’t just quit the second things got rough. Another aspect of poverty that I didn’t enjoy. “It can’t get robbed a second time, right?”
“Then I’ll see you next time, Fleur.” He turned away, the pathway lined with tall bushes in planters.
“Bastien.”
He turned back around, his blue eyes bright even from a distance in the dark, the sexiest man ever to have set foot on this road. One look at him showed he was dangerous, but that only made it harder to look away.
“You said there was a story behind my eyes. What’s the story behind yours?” Maybe it was just lust that bound me to him, but I didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want him to slip away in the night and disappear like a phantom that was never real in the first place. He was a man so hard but with such contradictory beauty, one who could speak the truth with a cruelty that hurt in a way that felt good.
His hands slid into his pockets as he looked at me, his shoulders shifting with the movement and showing a hint of the cut muscles underneath. “Are you inviting me inside, sweetheart?”