Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I chafe at it even as I understand it. She's a smart girl to doubt a monster. But this monster? Well, it's fucking complicated. And getting more so by the minute.
Because there's something about this girl that has me all twisted into knots. This should be simple, easy. Her father fucked with my business, so I break her to teach him a lesson. And yet…this has nothing to do with him. It has nothing to do with business. It has everything to do with her and the way she looks at me like I'm a puzzle she wants to solve.
For once, I want to be solved. I want to let her unravel all my secrets, come what may.
What the fuck is that about? I don't know, but I don't entirely hate it, either.
"I can't," she whispers reluctantly, but she doesn't pull away.
"You can. You will. Because you're mine, Brynna." I lean in, brushing my lips across the corner of her mouth. I flick my tongue against it, stealing a tiny taste of her. "And I protect what's mine."
Her soft gasp lands against my lips, turning my cock to stone. I pull back, meeting her gaze. The uncertainty is still there, but so is the fire. The defiance.
Goddamn, it's beautiful.
"I belong to no one," she growls, lifting her chin. "Least of all to you, Nazario."
I grin, savage and proud. Cristo. She's incredible.
"One day soon, you're going to ask me to claim every piece of you, dulzura. You'll beg me to fucking break you, and you'll want it more than air. When you do, I'll give you the fucking world." I step back, putting distance between us before I drag her into my arms and kiss the fire from her lips. She's not ready for that yet. But soon.
"You should get back to your father before he comes looking for you. But we'll be seeing each other again soon." I pause, my gaze running over her. "Don't let anyone put their hands on you, Irish. I won't allow them to keep them if they do."
With that, I turn and stride away, leaving her standing on the terrace, her outraged gaze burning into my back.
I chuckle to myself.
Her thoughts are so loud, I practically hear them screaming at me. But I don't turn around. I let her watch, let her wonder…let the anticipation build. Because when she finally crumbles into my arms, victory will be all that much sweeter.
And when that day comes?
Not even the armies of hell will be able to stop me from claiming her as mine. Her father certainly won't.
Cristo. What am I thinking?
She won't ever be mine.
She's supposed to be a means to an end, a piece to move across the board. I should be leaving with her on my arm, reminding her father what happens when you fuck with me. And yet…
The thought of spoiling her, of tainting her light with my darkness, fills me with a sense of dread I've never experienced before.
Fuck.
I glance over my shoulder at her as I reach the door, my breath catching in my throat as I see her fingertips pressed against her cheek, a look of wonder and confusion on her face.
I groan softly.
I can lie to myself all I want, but the writing is on the wall. Brynna Sullivan stopped being a means to an end before I ever stepped foot in that fucking bookstore yesterday. Whatever this is…it has nothing to do with her father. I'm not sure it ever did.
I want her in my arms and in my bed. Fuck her father. Fuck our war. It's irrelevant.
I stride back into the ballroom, my mind reeling. The air feels charged, electric. I can still feel the softness of her skin beneath my lips, hear the way she gasped when I kissed her.
I need a fucking drink.
I make my way to the bar, signaling for a shot of tequila. The bartender pours a glass, sliding it across the polished wood toward me.
I snatch the glass with a shaking hand and down it in one gulp, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. It doesn't silence the roar in my mind. It doesn't even slow it.
"Drowning your sorrows, Leyva?" a familiar voice drawls from behind me.
I tense and turn, coming face to face with Adrian Lombardi. He's leaning against the bar, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips.
"Lombardi," I mutter, my tone cold. "I didn't know they let trash into these events."
His jade eyes flash with anger, but his smile doesn't budge. "Careful, Leyva. You don't want to start something you can't finish with all these people watching."
I laugh, a harsh, humorless sound, as I set my empty glass on the bar. Has everyone forgotten who the fuck I am? Or are they all really this fucking eager for a show?