Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74291 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
I spend the next fifteen minutes throwing a few things in an overnight bag and mentally berating myself. The longer I think about what I just agreed to, the more my nerves close in around me. When someone starts knocking on my door, I nearly jump out of my skin. I pull the strap of my satchel over a shoulder and walk to the door, cursing myself silently in my head.
“Who is it?”
“I’m Mr. Anthes’s driver. He said you would be expecting me.”
“I’m ready,” I tell him, opening the door. I’m also lying through my teeth. He’s a tall man, maybe about the size of Roman, but he definitely lacks his presence. He’s wearing a black suit and keeps his hand on my back the entire walk outside. He takes me to a large, black, stretch limousine.
As we approach, he opens the car door. “Ms. Stevens, there’s a minibar and television in the back.” His words go through me. I feel like Alice and I’ve stepped through some kind of rabbit hole.
The door closes and I settle inside, the leather interior feeling softer than I remember leather being before. I keep my hands in my lap, afraid to touch anything. The limo starts up, the engine running so quietly that had there not been a change in the vibration of the air around me, I’m not sure I would have noticed. The darkened partition between the front seat and the back slowly slides down.
“We’ll be there in about forty minutes, Ms. Stevens. If you need anything, there’s an intercom button on your door.”
My eyes seek out the button and find it. I turn back to the driver.
“Um. Couldn’t we just communicate like this?”
“Most of Mr. Anthes’s passengers like privacy.”
The small fine hairs on the back of my neck tingle at the chauffeur’s words. Why does it feel like by “passengers” he means “women”? That’s basically what I am, right? A woman he’s pursing for sex. I’m old enough and lived through enough that if I want a quick fling with a man—or hell, even a one-night-stand—I should feel no shame. The problem is that Roman is the last man on earth I should pick to do that with. Things are complicated and this is just going to make it more so.
“I’m not like his normal passengers,” I tell the driver, because if nothing else, I am completely sure of that. “What’s your name?’ I ask him, needing the idle conversation to still my nerves.
“Robert.”
“Hi Robert, I’m Ana.”
“Hi, Ana,” he says and smiles at me through the rearview mirror.
“Where are we going exactly?” I ask, because I have no idea.
“Mr. Anthes lives on the east side of the city. We’ll be there in no time.”
The rest of our ride is relatively quiet and full of passing small talk about the weather and the NBA playoffs, of which I know next to nothing. I figure men and sports go together easily enough, so I fake my way through the conversation. He takes me further out onto a dirt road. I didn’t know there was a place this remote in all of Miami. My survival instincts have kicked in and I feel nerves skitter down my back. Did my conversation with Roman about my brother trigger something for him? I clutch my satchel close to me.
“I thought Mr. Anthes lived in an apartment near his nightclub?” I ask Robert just as we’re rounding a curve. My tight hold on my satchel loosens as a large iron gate with a big “A” on it comes into view. You can see a paved road from that point on and it leads to a gigantic mansion beside the ocean. Hello, world. Meet money.
“He owns a hotel there and keeps the top floor to stay in, but this is his house.”
“Oh. Does he bring many people out here?”
Silence. Guess I asked too many questions.
When the car comes to a stop, I spend a few seconds to catch my breath when Robert gets out of the car. I turn when the door opens, but it’s not Robert standing there; it’s Roman. His hair is disheveled, he’s got a five o’clock shadow going, and his shirt is completely unbuttoned which leaves a line of bronze perfection to draw my eye. Instantly, I wish the shirt was gone—and then I want to slap the stupid out of me.
Roman reaches his hand in. I stare at it for a minute before putting mine in his. White hot heat runs through my system. Never has this happened to me before, this instant electric connection to someone that is so powerful, it short-circuits my brain cells. Why does the one man it happens with have to be Roman Anthes?
He helps me out, but my legs feel like jelly. I nearly fall and stumble against him. I brace myself on his chest, my fingertips burning when they touch his bare skin. His arms go around me and I get lost in the musky smell of his aftershave and the scent that is just him. Strong. Powerful. Alpha.