Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
With his eyes pointed down at his cell phone, he typed a new message. I studied his profile, noting the strength in his jaw, the hardness of his gorgeous features. Like his brother, he had the perfect bone structure and flawless skin. I wanted to paint him so badly my fingers itched for the chance.
“Did your mom ever paint you?”
He greeted me with more silence.
I was not giving up without a fight. Ideas for paintings raced through my mind, and I needed his cooperation to bring the concept to life. He seemed okay with sitting still for hours at a time. Maybe with a little convincing, he would let me sketch him.
I already had the Many Faces of the Devil series. Lonely Boy could be the first in the Lonely Hearts collection. Yeah, that would work.
I finished my second slice of toast before strolling over to my handsome captor. “How about we make a deal?”
He glanced up from his phone. “For deals to work, you must have something to offer.”
Wiggling my eyebrows, I tugged at the seam of his shirt that rode up my thighs. “There must be something you want from me.”
“I could bind your hands and mouth and leave you to rot in this room until Luca comes home.” He grinned like a psychopath. “How does that sound, princess?”
I shook my head, disappointed with the sudden change of events. What happened to the man who held me in his arms and whispered I was safe? It didn’t take long for him to disappear.
Shoving my hand through his thick hair, I pulled on the ends, forcing him to look up at me. “You’re a real jerk, Marcello Salvatore.”
A really sexy one.
He pushed my hand away and went back to texting with one hand, his eyes on the screen as he fixed his hair back into place. “If you want to shower, get moving. I don’t have all day.”
We rode in silence through Devil’s Creek, with Marcello behind the wheel and 90s rock music floating through the speakers. His choice in bands told me something about him, though Marcello was still a mystery. Unlike his older brother, he was always quiet and reserved. Kurt Cobain’s voice belted through the car, and I tapped my fingers on my thigh to the beat of “Heart-Shaped Box” by Nirvana, one of my favorite bands.
As we rode into town, I leaned on the armrest, invading Marcello’s personal space. “Why is there a gate separating our houses from The Hills?”
Marcello pointed at Beacon Bay. Obscured by trees, the small community was to the right of Devil’s Creek. Locals called it Beggars Bay because of past incidents and the significant difference in wealth.
“My father used his political influence to put gates around Devil’s Creek to keep out the beggars. We had too much crime from the surrounding towns.”
We rolled through a guarded gate, and Marcello waved at the man sitting in the booth.
“Are you sure it’s not so your father can control who’s allowed in and out of Devil’s Creek?”
“That too.”
From the outside, it looked like a wealthy neighborhood. Devil’s Creek was a way of life for these people with its sprawling mansions and manicured lawns. Much like me, they lived in their gilded cages disguised as mega-mansions, all under the pretense that following Arlo’s rules would get them what they wanted. But this kind of happiness had a steep price.
With his eyes on the road, Marcello drove for another ten minutes in silence. He stopped at a local designer called Haute Couture, which translated to high fashion in French. I assumed the generic choice in the name meant the designs would be far from high fashion until Marcello hung my party dress on a hook behind me.
My eyes widened as I stared at the beautiful green fairy dress that reminded me of Tinker Bell. Arlo threw the best parties on the East Coast. His Midsummer Night’s Dream masquerade ball was the highlight of the year. Everyone from celebrities to heads of state would be in attendance.
Next, Marcello parked in front of a boutique called Caio Bella. “Let’s go,” he said as he opened his door.
I climbed out of his car with a groan, still tired from my lack of sleep. Marcello yanked on my arm and dragged me toward the store.
“Please keep manhandling me,” I deadpanned. “Because I love it so fucking much.”
He rolled his eyes, and before we entered the store, Marcello grabbed my shoulder. “The women in town are chatty. Your little running away act last year only made them more curious about you.”
“I left because your brother made me.”
He dismissed me with the wave of his hand. “Don’t offer any information about our families or why you’re here. I’m just a friend helping a friend, got it?”
I smirked. “We have never been friends. This is the most you’ve ever spoken to me.”