Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
It’s probably what made us hate each other to begin with. I was annoyed that he pushed me; he was annoyed he liked it; I was annoyed when he didn’t.
I was confusing even myself.
“No.” I leaned down until my mouth almost grazed his. “Did you have sweet nightmares?”
“Ahhh…” He didn’t touch my face, but he did lean in until his tongue accidentally hit my bottom lip because he was licking his. “I did, there was a woman on top of me, and then she said I couldn’t touch her, a monster walked in, and I had nothing but pain instead of pleasure. It was horrible. I might have scars for life.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” I smirked.
He paused. The air seemed to heat between our mouths as he gently tugged me onto the bed, careful to pull me to the other side of him. “I wish for a lot of things.”
“You can’t touch me.”
“Did I say I was going to?”
He’d dropped my wrist, but we both knew what touch meant, it wasn’t a simple hug or hand hold, it was something much more intimate.
His right hand moved to cup my cheek. “And you? Did you have sweet nightmares or vivid dreams of blood spilled across this expensive floor?”
“Oh, I dreamed of blood, yours specifically.”
“That’s lovely.”
“It was graphic.”
“Death mostly is.” Ivan grinned. “Does it make you feel better, though? Dreaming of a world without me?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t one to hesitate.
He leaned up on his side.
I tried to look away.
He gripped me by the chin. “Isn’t it your turn to be so very careful, what you wish for…”
Heart pounding in my chest, I leaned into his touch. His eyes blazed down at me, breath catching, he cursed. “Something’s broken in me.”
“Because you’re a killer?”
“Because I want to punish you for making me want.”
“You won’t get it.”
“Say it again.” He hissed. “One more time.”
I gulped. “You won’t get it; you won’t get me.”
He gripped me lightly by the hair and turned my head to the side. “One day, you’ll think differently.” His nose ran down my neck while his wet mouth ran down my skin. I felt his heated exhale like a drug pumping through my veins.
I gripped the bottom of his briefs.
He bit out a curse.
We broke apart when the sound of footsteps filled the room. I slowly got up and walked over to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door, then slid to the bottom of the floor while whispers were heard from the bedroom.
Hands shaking, I stared down at my palms.
What was happening?
Why was I even entertaining him?
He was more monster than man.
I needed a reminder of what he did, of who he was.
I didn’t need long.
A minute later, he slammed something against the door and yelled. “Get ready, we have a family lunch to attend.”
Lunch?
They were worse than the dinners.
Everyone was drunk by one in the afternoon by way of bellinis or mimosas.
I groaned into my hands.
“Look good and pure for your perfect little family, Bella, your life and mine might depend on it, oh and if I disappear for a half hour, I’m not dead, but I might wish I were.”
That was all he said.
And I was thrust back into reality.
Out of the darkness we shared and into the stark light of truth, my truth, my journey, my purpose.
Smile at brunch.
Tell everyone it was everything I wanted.
Keep the peace.
Mourn my brother-in-law.
Die a virgin.
And look the other way when my husband flirted with the staff.
Couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I prefer war, it’s better to look at my enemies face to face than to wonder if they’re sitting with me at the dinner table hiding a steak knife to shove into my back. Less guess work that way.” —King Campisi
Ivan
Every song in the SUV leading up to brunch had to do with sex. It wasn’t my imagination and even Tank kept looking in the rearview mirror as if to check on me.
Was I okay?
Absolutely not.
Was I having a ginormous problem keeping myself in check?
Yes.
Was I actually singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in order to distract myself from the fresh smell of Bella’s perfume or the fact that her innocent little white dress was inching up her tanned thigh?
Hell. Yes.
Why white?
Why was she so tan?
I mean, she was Italian.
And I did tell her to look perfectly untouched, so her dad didn’t take one look at her and assume I was touching her or kissing her.
Which just made me want to touch more.
She was the pretty little glass ballerina in a case that only danced when you twisted three times—but you had to find the key first.
And I was the robber, willing to burn down the house in order to find the key, open the box, and listen.
I just wanted to listen.
I was going insane.
Bella cleared her throat and turned to face me, flashing me more thigh. Maybe Nixon knew this would end up killing me more than his knife?