Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Fuck. Is this my chance to escape? I’m wearing a towel.
Just as I’m about to step back into my room, a rumbling, painful sound emanates from further down the corridor. At least, I think it sounds painful until I realize what else it might be. Antonio raced away with an erection that could obliterate the world. Did he…?
My face flushes hot at the mental image of him standing with his back against the door, dripping, while he palms his thick cock in rough strokes, thinking about what he just did to me. I shake away the picture, pick up the wet, wrinkled floor mat, and take it over to the hamper in the corner. I find clean panties and dress in a white lounge suit that’s made of the softest luxury fabric, then I tiptoe out of the room. The sun is bright, even though the tall sliding doors to the balcony are tinted to prevent glare. I approach slowly, my damp bare feet sticking to the cool floor. I stare out at the expanse of the city where freedom resides.
I turn to find the front door and approach it slowly, craning my ear to listen. Voices carry from somewhere outside, probably Venturi soldiers. Escape was never anything but a fleeting hope. I’m a bird in a cage; one they do not want to release.
I test the handle for the balcony doors and find they slide easily. Outside, the air is cool, but not unpleasant and I make my way to the edge, gripping onto the glass balustrade, staring down at the people below. Small as ants, they make their way past, oblivious to my plight. I’m Rapunzel without the hair to toss over the balcony or the prince waiting at the bottom to rescue me. I lean far over to try to work out where I am. The city isn’t familiar to me, not after so many years. When I left, I was a child who didn’t know much outside the walls of my own home.
Hands grasp my arms and haul me backward as I squeak in protest and whip my head around.
“What the fuck are you doing,” Antonio growls. His face is twisted with anger. But he’s panting like he’s afraid. Did he think I was going to jump?
“What are you worried about, Antonio? Did you think I’d rather die than see you again?”
He holds me so close to his body that I can feel the rapid thud, thud, thud of his heart.
“Come inside.”
He backs us up and closes the door, only releasing me when it’s locked. His gray eyes are dark with gathered storm clouds, his mouth a grim line. He turns his attention to the kitchen, avoiding me. “You need to eat.” He sounds just like my mother. What is it with Sicilians and their misplaced belief that food is a cure-all?
“Did my father come forward?” I ask.
He tuts and strides into the kitchen. I take it to mean no. No surprise there.
The sleek units stretch around a corner, revealing nothing of what’s inside. He yanks open the door to a huge integrated refrigerator and stares inside. Just as he’s about to reach for a tray of food, approaching voices make him pause. The front door flies open and serious Luca strides in, followed by a smiling Alexis, and the atmosphere immediately changes.
12
LUCA
SHIFTED LOYALTIES
I stop in my tracks at the sight of Aemelia in the kitchen with Antonio. Something has shifted in the atmosphere in the penthouse. There’s no tension. She leans toward him, her body language relaxed, and they seem comfortable together, like old friends passing the time rather than captor and captive. Aemelia’s hair is damp, loose, and already beginning to curl at the ends, and Antonio’s is also wet. My eyes narrow as I take in the details—his change of clothes, the way he stands closer than necessary, the way she glances at him before speaking.
“Why is she out here?” I ask, my tone sharp.
“To eat,” Antonio replies simply, lifting the tray of food in his hands before placing it on the counter as if I’m an idiot for asking.
“She’s not a guest,” I remind him. “She’s a—”
“Captive virgin?” Aemelia tips her head, her dark eyes sharp with challenge.
“Maybe,” I say, my gaze sliding to my brother. “Or maybe not.”
Antonio straightens. “Aemelia, go to your room,” he orders. “I’ll bring the food.”
She opens her mouth to object, but at his raised brow and insistent glare, she reconsiders. Without another word, she turns and disappears down the hall, her clingy lounge suit hugging every curve like a second skin—a masterpiece, still unsigned.
When her door clicks shut, I approach my brother and lean in to speak in a hushed tone.
“I leave you for half a day.”
“What?”
I inhale, catching the scent clinging to him—floral and sweet. Not his usual cologne. Aemelia’s scent. My jaw ticks. “You smell like a whore’s closet.”