Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
No. That wasn’t sex, I guess. That was me being fucked in every sense of the word.
Nausea at the memory almost makes me forget about my headache. I manage to shove it away though. I’ve gotten better at that but I’m still not quite there. Not to the point of not feeling anything when I remember. I wish I could forget it. Have the memories wiped clean.
So maybe Cristiano didn’t fuck me while I was out.
I reach down and tentatively touch myself. It would be sticky or at least the blood would have crusted. Men leave a mess. But I feel nothing.
The bathroom door opens, snagging my attention.
“Morning,” he says when he sees me.
I draw the covers up and sit up a little, scratching my head, trying to pat down my hair. I can be a pretty wild sleeper. I know what I look like first thing in the morning. And it’s not pretty.
Not that I want to be pretty for him.
“How’s your head?” he asks, adjusting the tuck of the towel at his hips, drawing my eye to how low slung it is. To the V of his belly. The line of dark hair that goes from his navel to disappear beneath the towel.
My face heats up and I open my mouth to speak but find it’s gone dry. I clear my throat. “It’s fine.” I really want to brush my teeth.
“I’m sure,” he says with a grin and gestures to the nightstand. “That’s not expired. And you’ll want to drink all of that water.”
I look over, see the container of aspirin and the big bottle of water. “Did you…” I stop.
He raises an eyebrow. “Did I what?” He opens a drawer at the dresser to take out a pair of briefs. He drops the towel.
“Can you at least warn me?” It takes me a split second to avert my gaze but it’s too late. He sees.
He grins. “Too much for you, Little Kitten?”
Little Kitten.
Give Fury a little whiskey and she turns into a little kitten.
I make myself meet his gaze. “I’ve seen bigger and better,” I lie.
“I doubt that.” He chuckles and walks into the closet to return a moment later, zipping up a pair of slacks. “And I’ve just figured out how to tell when you’re lying.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Your voice gets higher.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well, that was the plan, but you passed out.”
So, that confirms that we didn’t fuck, right? I turn my attention to the aspirin, busying myself twisting the lid as I remember that my pants were around my ankles. “Why were my pants off then?”
“Probably because they’re about five sizes too big. I took the tie you’d knotted around your middle off, but I didn’t touch you otherwise.”
“Oh.”
He walks over, takes the bottle from me and twists the lid off easily. “Child lock.”
“Ha-ha.”
“By the way, you snore.”
God, did I? How embarrassing. “Everyone snores,” I say to deflect.
He disappears into the closet once again and this time when he returns, he’s pulling on a shirt. I remember that part of the night. The muscle. The scars. Those tattoos.
The lines through my brother’s names. Noah’s name still line-less.
“Why is my name not on your list?”
“You’re a woman. Barely.”
“I’m twenty-two and that’s sexist.”
“You’d prefer me to add you to my reaper’s list?”
“Reaper’s list?”
“Grim reaper. I will steal the life of everyone unfortunate enough to have their name inked on my skin.”
“Well, in that case my brother doesn’t belong there. He had no hand in the attack and you know it.”
“I know no such thing. I have a meeting. You’ll stay on the island.” He tucks the shirt into his pants then wraps a tie around his neck.
“Are you going to cross another name off?”
He just gives me a quick grin.
“Where’s my uncle? Is he here?” I ask.
“Jacob? Fuck no. After you’ve eaten, Lenore will make a plate of exactly the amount of food you eat for your brother and you can deliver it to him.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wait. Why do you care how much I eat?”
“Because I don’t want to break you in half when I—”
“You know what? Never mind. I get it. Can I visit with Noah or is it really just deliver his plate and leave?”
“Five minutes.” He pulls on his jacket. “Do I need to put bars on the windows?”
“What?” But then I remember how I told him I’d rather throw myself out the window than have to fuck Marcus Rinaldi. “I don’t know, is Marcus Rinaldi here?”
He chuckles. “Don’t go snooping where you don’t belong. You can help Lenore in the kitchen if you get bored and you’ll stay indoors.”
“What about clothes?”
He gestures to the chair where a dress is folded over the back.
“Anything else?” he asks as he pulls his jacket on, making it hard to look away from him as muscle stretches the material.
I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me?