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)
It was charming and unexpected and I couldn't help but wonder why it ever fell out of favor.
There were no sparks or butterflies. I had never been a sparks and butterflies person, having learned from a young age to be a realist through and through. But I had to admit it felt calming and reassuring to feel a strong hand holding mine, offering help.
He didn't immediately drop it when I climbed out of the vehicle, or even after he slammed the door shut behind me.
His gaze went to mine, deep, unreadable.
For a beat.
Two.
Three.
Longer.
Long enough for a strange heaviness to settle on my chest, making my breathing feel harder, slower.
But then one of his men slammed his door, breaking the spell.
Luca's hand gave mine a small squeeze before dropping it.
We weren't even going to talk about the irrational surge of disappointment that rolled around my stomach, worked its way up my throat until I felt like I was choking on it.
Disappointment.
That made no sense.
What could I have possibly been disappointed about?
That he hadn't, I don't know, pushed me back against the wall, pressed his lips to mine, and taken my mind off my ugly reality for just one blissful moment?
Actually, yes, I realized as I followed numbly behind him as we went into the house, that was exactly where my mind had been going.
Why, I had no idea.
Yes, Luca Grassi was a good-looking man. No, it was more than that. He was immeasurably attractive. Like he stepped off the page of a magazine.
But being handsome had never been a good enough reason to feel so intensely preoccupied with the idea of kissing someone. At least not for me. I was someone who was into the whole package, not just the pretty trappings.
And I didn't know much about this man.
Well, that wasn't fair. I knew enough to feel intrigued about him. He was successful and driven. He was intelligent and a little bit dangerous. He was willing to offer a helping hand. He had good manners. He let his men who clearly respected him tease him, so he didn't take himself too seriously.
It was enough, I figured, to know about someone to want to feel their lips on your lips, on your neck, your ribs, your inner thighs.
Jesus.
No.
My mind absolutely could not be going to things like sex with a relative stranger while my sister was missing, while who knew what was happening to her.
"Romina," Luca called, voice a little firm, making me wonder if he had called me more than once. "Are you alright? You're pale," he added when I stared blankly at him.
"I, um," I started, hearing my voice crack, feeling my eyes sting, closing my lids tight to try to keep the tears at bay. "This is just a lot," I admitted, feeling my lips tremble, not knowing how much longer I could keep it together.
"It is," Luca agreed, voice soft. And wasn't it such a strange thing for a hard man to be capable of being soft? "But you don't have to carry it all by yourself anymore," he told me, sounding closer, sounding like he was right in front of me, in fact.
My eyes slid open, finding his gaze on me, and up close, those thick lashes of his were oddly mesmerizing.
That, or I was getting delirious from lack of sleep.
"You can give me some of the weight, Romy. I can handle it," he assured me, hand reaching up, and for a horrifying second I was worried a tear had slipped out without me noticing, but his thumb and forefinger went to my chin again, pulling it up a bit. "We've got this," he assured me with enough conviction that I found myself believing him. "Say it," he demanded.
"We've got this," I agreed.
"Yes, we do," he said, dropping his hand, looking down at it like he wasn't sure where it came from, why it was attached to his body. Or, more likely, why he'd touched me with it. "I have a change of clothes in the closet if you want to take a shower," he told me, making everything else fall away, making me wonder why he would feel the need to say that right that moment.
Did I smell or something?
I had been running back at the docks, ending up soaked through with sweat. And left in a basement with no way to get a little whore's bath to clean up.
"I, ah, I don't know if I can pull off a suit."
"What?" he asked, brows pinching, lost.
"You seem partial to suits," I explain, making his lips twitch, catching on.
"You can make the shirt work for you. Until Michael comes back with more supplies."
That irrational part of me that wanted him to kiss me also found itself inexplicably excited about the prospect of wearing his shirt.
Food and sleep.
Clearly, I needed some food and sleep.