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)
It’s like I cease to exist in the real world and enter a celestial plane where soft music plays and only happiness and pleasure exist. I don’t move because I don't want to destroy this precious moment and remind Aemelia where she is and who she’s kissing. She’s still half asleep.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing.
She can’t because if she did, she’d never want to kiss a man like me. Her warm breath tickles my cheek as she lingers. I thread my fingers into her hair, holding her gently with just the pads against the warm skin of her scalp. I want to kiss her, touch her, wipe away all the misery of her life and leave only joy and ecstasy. I want to disappear into another life where money and power don’t rule my mind and heart.
Her lips drift across mine like a ghost of a kiss and I close my eyes, waiting for more, but it never comes. Instead, she pulls away and snuggles against me.
And that’s how I end up falling asleep next to Aemelia Lambretti—my captive, my prisoner, my possession, and the woman who is slowly, without effort, peeling away the layers of protection around my heart.
21
AEMELIA
SMART ENOUGH TO SURVIVE
I wake first, needing to pee, and find myself smooshed against Luca, who is sleeping on my mattress. His body rests on top of my blankets while I’m warm and snuggled beneath. In sleep, with his face at peace, he loses all the sharpness. Even his scar, long and neat across his face, doesn't take away the ethereal beauty that he possesses. I take a few seconds to really study the man who made my whole body fizz with awareness with just a heated look across a wedding reception. The man who paid a high price for my virginity but hasn’t taken it yet.
Time has changed him from the man who carried me when I was a hurt and helpless child. His brow and jaw are more defined, his stubble denser, his lips a little thinner. His dark hair is peppered with the odd fleck of white, but it only makes him more handsome. This man is old enough to be my father, but I could never see him that way. Even when I was a kid, I thought of him as handsome, like a fairytale prince who’d come back for me when I was grown. He’s broad and muscular, fit in a thicker, more masculine way than men my age. And I kissed him.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the truth. I was scared from a dream that felt like reality, Cohen chasing me, hurting me, violating me, and Luca was a safe haven. I gulp at the realization that my mafia captor is the person I clung to when my stalker violated my dreams.
These men are my captors, but it’s complicated. They’re in the wrong for holding me against my will, but they’re also my rescuers. If any of those other men had bought me at auction, I’d be deflowered by now. Maybe worse. Virginity can only be taken once, but men can make a fortune out of owning and selling what’s between a woman’s legs. I shudder at what could have happened to me if these men didn’t see me as a method of revenge against a man I myself despise.
And if Cohen had caught up with me, he’d have destroyed me by now.
I pull away, careful not to disturb Luca, drawing Antonio’s sweater around me and inhaling. The neck smells like his cologne, ocean breeze and alpine forest, and the subtle scent of his skin that inexplicably makes me feel safe. As I pad out of the room, Alexis stirs, rolling over, his hair flopping across his forehead. He’s beautiful in sleep, too, like a Roman sculpture brought to the ground by time, created to be the very pinnacle of men’s appearance.
I find my way to the bathroom and relieve myself, then wash my hands and face, staring into the cracked mirror before I look away from the disheveled, wide-eyed girl who stares back.
Downstairs, I search the refrigerator and cupboards, pulling together ingredients for breakfast. There’s egg, sausage, tomatoes, and mushrooms, along with a loaf of rustic bread that will toast to a perfect golden brown. As I start to prepare the food, rich, savory scents fill the kitchen, drifting up the stairs, and sure enough, the first to be roused is Alexis. He’s shirtless, his dark curls in disarray, and his eyes still heavy with sleep. I blush at the sight of all his smooth tanned skin, unable to prevent my gaze from sliding over his tight abs and nicely rounded pecs. The way his fire tats lick up his arms sends heat rushing through me like wildfire.
He flops onto a stool at the counter, rubbing his face with his hands before propping his elbows on the surface, this thick biceps bunching. “You look a lot nicer than the usual asshole who makes me breakfast,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep, “although I think you might have the same dress sense.”