Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
My heart beat hard as he swam out to me, his dark head parting the water like a shark as, with two powerful strokes, he was at my side, then had me cornered, his arms trapping me at the edge of the pool.
“One thing I learned early in life is never let your enemies see your fear.” He moved in closer, his wet face inches from mine. “Never let them smell it on you because it’s like a fucking drug.” He inhaled deeply. “You can get high from it, Sofia.”
“Are you my enemy?” I asked, focusing on that one word. Unable to think about the rest. Knowing it was true.
“I’m not your friend, am I?”
“No.”
“Your eyes betray your desire, Sofia. Your hunger.”
“You don’t see very clearly, Raphael.”
“I see very clearly. And I read you like a fucking book.”
I looked away, very aware of his body so close to mine, very aware of how my lips parted and my tongue darted out to lick them. And how he watched that little involuntary movement so knowingly.
“You’re curious, Sofia. At least admit it to yourself. Or are you a coward?”
“I’m not a coward. And you’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Let me go.”
“I’m not touching you.”
His gaze roamed over my face, then dropped to my lips.
I dove down and slipped under his arm, swimming to the shallower edge of the pool. But before I could climb out, he was behind me, and this time, he was touching me. His body pressed against me, his chest to my back, trapping me.
“You want me to touch you,” he whispered in my ear. “Don’t you?”
When his lips closed around my earlobe, I sucked in a breath. It was like the sensation shot right through me. Shot down to my core, awakening something else. Something he seemed to do just by being around me.
One of his hands slid down to close over my waist, and he turned me so I faced him.
“What are you doing?” I asked, breathless, trapped.
“I told you I’d find a way for you to repay me.”
“What?” I panicked, looking to either side of him for an escape but knowing I’d go nowhere if he didn’t allow me to. Physically, I was no match.
“Shh. Just be quiet.”
Water dripped into my eyes, and I blinked. In that moment, his mouth closed over mine, wet and cool, the taste of chlorine clinging to his lips.
I made a sound and pushed against his chest. It’s what I should do. I should resist. But he didn’t budge and he didn’t release me, not with his body, not with his mouth. Instead, his lips teased mine open, the stubble on his jaw sharp against my cheek as he slid his tongue inside my mouth. Against my conscious will, I opened. He eased his tongue deeper, and I did something so against what my brain told me to do, which was to resist. Instead, I tasted him. I tasted his tongue, his lips, his breath, and for one brief moment, I kissed him back.
That was when Raphael broke the kiss.
I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his eyes darker, the victory inside them a mockery, shaming me.
“You want it, Sofia. You want it so fucking bad, I can smell it on you.”
Chapter Eight
Raphael
“Get off me,” Sofia shoved at me, but I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
“Make me.”
She tried again. “I mean it.”
“Or what? What will you do if I don’t let you go?”
Frustration lined her forehead. It took her a full minute to answer my question with her own.
“What can I do?”
She searched my face as if truly seeking an answer from me.
From me.
“Nothing. That’s the point,” I said.
“I’m a game to you.”
“No, not a game.”
“Then what? I don’t understand what you want with me. You tell me this marriage will be in name alone. You tell me you hate me, yet—”
“I told you I hate your name. There’s a difference between hating your name and hating you.”
“Does it matter?”
I could see her confusion and frustration visibly mounting as she frantically searched around her.
“I’m cold.”
She gasped when I wrapped my hands around her tiny waist and instantly tried to push them off. When I lifted her out of the pool and set her on the edge, she exhaled, her face flushing red, probably embarrassed at her panic.
I climbed out and got her towel, wrapping it over her shoulders as I sat beside her.
“Thanks.”
I nodded.
“I don’t understand what you want,” she said.
I looked at her sitting there, hugging the towel to herself, shivering in the heat. Her wet hair clung to her skin, and she refused to look at me for a long time.
What did I want? What did I want with her? This was a business transaction, ultimately. Money owed. She was here to pay off a debt.
But did I want to take it out of her skin?