Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I hope there’s honey in the pantry. If not, I’ll have to make a shopping list.
My feet lose traction, and I stumble at the thought.
Julius and I have yet to talk about whatever the hell this is, and I’m making lists?
I shake my head at my naivety. Even I think that’s pathetic.
As I open the kitchen cabinets, I find a small pan, pour some milk into it and turn on the stove. When I open the pantry in search of honey, I find none, but decide to use some maple syrup in its stead, pouring some into the heated milk. With my nightcap now steaming, I switch off the stove, spill some into a mug and sit on a stool at the breakfast bar, holding my hands around it, warming them.
I take my first sip and close my eyes in subdued delight.
It’s almost perfect, which is high praise for not having used the correct ingredients. Under the circumstances of my life, I’ve come to acknowledge that anything being close to perfect can be deemed flawless in my book. After all, who am I to judge perfect, when I am so far from faultless myself?
Lost in my thoughts, I startle when I hear the front door unlock, and my heart stutters then beams.
Julius is home.
I place my mug down on the counter, slide off the stool, doing what I can to ignore the niggling discomfort in my heel, and wait. Solid footsteps down the hall come closer and closer until his tall, darkened figure appears in the shadows of the entrance to the kitchen.
“Ana?” he asks huskily. “What are you doing up?”
My feet move of their own accord, and I can’t think much about anything apart from being close to him. I don’t slow when I reach him, and I don’t mean to slam into him with such force, but when I do, snaking my arms around his lean waist, he grunts in surprise at my unforeseen strength.
He stands so much taller than me that when I place my cheek against him, it rests just above his taut belly. I close my eyes at the care he takes, wrapping one arm around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head, holding me to him firmly.
This hold screams “you are safe” while vowing “no one will ever put hands on you again.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I explain lamely. A short moment passes, and I repeat, “I couldn’t sleep,” but bite my tongue when my heart bids me say “without you.”
Tall, strong Julius. Beautiful mocha-skinned Julius, with his cold blue eyes and warm, inviting lips, holds me in his grasp in complete silence, gently rocking me side to side, comforting me, providing me in one simple gesture more than anyone had ever offered me before. And with every further moment in this man’s arms, I lose myself, falling deeper and deeper in lust with this imperturbable, aloof man who cares so deeply but refuses to show it to the world, only to those he deems worthy.
And that care he shows me makes me feel worthy in a world where I was taught to feel merely content.
How does one become something from the nothing they always were?
All I’ve ever had in my life was my looks, and all those looks had brought me was misery and pain. I would give anything to contribute as an equal, regardless of how I get that done. I’m not scared to work hard or get dirty to get what I want.
I want to be worthy of Julius, and for as long as he’ll have me, I will work on becoming his ideal partner. This will not be a one-sided relationship. I will give to him as much as gives to me. I vow it.
Julius pulls back, placing his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, his eyes searching my face. “Listen, I—”
That’s when I hear the second set of footsteps coming in behind him. My shoulders stiffen immediately. I didn’t know we had an audience.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.” I dip my chin in discomfiture and move to back out of his hold, his hands releasing me, but when I glance up at him, his expression tells me he does this reluctantly. “I’ll leave you to it.”
But as I turn to leave, I catch sight of the man who stands in the open doorway, the moonlight illuminating his face. And I still.
Shock holds me immobile as I shamelessly stare at the man, my mouth gaping. I swallow hard and whisper, “Signor Falco?”
The older man smiles in greeting, the creasing in his face making him all the more charming. “Alejandra,” he utters softly, kindly. “This is a bad town for such a pretty face.”
The shock begins to fade and, in its place, joy forms, bubbling up inside of me. A startled laugh escapes me. He holds out his hands and, wide-eyed and in awe, I step closer to him, placing my hands into his leathery ones.