Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Isn’t that exactly what you need—a dangerous man to protect you?
I supposed it was, but that didn’t stop me from being torn between being terrified of him and wanting to fall to my knees and beg to suck his dick.
And the not-talking thing? That was going to drive me crazy.
I tried a few different searches but came up with nothing. He was basically a ghost. I found one picture of him with an older man who, based on their resemblance, was related to him. They looked amazing, both in tuxedos standing on a podium. A sign behind him indicated that they were at a charity auction. There was no date posted, but the picture had been taken before Dominic got the scars on his face.
The accompanying article confirmed that they were attending an art auction and gave their names as Dominic and Frank Marchesi, but it contained no further details. I kept searching, but I couldn’t find anything else about him. It was like he no longer existed.
I considered unpacking, but I decided to check out my room first, so I put my phone back in my pocket and wandered into the ensuite bathroom. It was much larger than I’d expected. There was a shower stall with bright blue tile and a clawfoot tub that I could soak in. At least I could pamper myself while I was here.
The lighting around the mirrors over the sink was fantastic. I’d actually be able to tell how badly the stress was fucking up my skin. Dominic might be cold and unwilling to chat, but I knew I could be somewhere much worse. I also knew I’d go crazy with no one to talk to.
I peeked under the luxurious king-size bed but there was nothing there, not even a dust bunny. I pulled back the comforter and nearly moaned when I felt the soft sheets. This guy might be a cold bastard, but he knew how to live.
As expected, the closet and dresser were completely empty. No further clues about Mr. Marchesi or anyone else who’d stayed here. I sighed and hoisted my suitcase onto the bed. At least I had plenty of room for the belongings I’d managed to stuff inside.
When I was almost done unpacking, I heard footsteps. Was Mr. Marchesi was coming back already?
I opened the door as he raised his fist to knock.
He huffed but didn’t look surprised. Without saying a word, he turned around and began to walk down the hall with halting steps. I heard him sucking in his breath as he put his weight onto his left leg. What had happened to him, and why wasn’t he using a cane or something else to help him walk? We started down the stairs. It was all I could do not to offer my arm. He held onto the banister with his unscarred hand and moved slowly. I kept the same pace and didn’t say a word. I was sure he wouldn’t appreciate either an offer of help or me speeding past him.
We stopped at a room with an imposing mahogany desk, which I assumed was an office. He paused in the doorway and gestured for me to enter ahead of him. I took one of the cushioned seats in front of the desk, then glanced back at him. He was holding onto the door frame with his eyes closed.
I saw a cane leaning against his desk, so I grabbed it and held it out to him. “Would you like this?”
The look he gave me sent shivers down my spine. Talk about cold. I expected to see icicles forming in the room. He could give Elsa a run for her money. “I’m fine. If I need that, I will get it myself. Don’t make assumptions.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I was trying to be helpful.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
Wow. What had made him so bitter? He did give in and use the cane to walk from the door to his desk. I forced myself to keep a straight face, even though I wanted to smile.
Could I make a project out of him? That was probably a stupid idea, but something told me that there was a decent person inside. He’d just been hiding himself away—at least that seemed to be the case. Clearly, he didn’t want my help, but what if I didn’t give him a choice? We were stuck together for who knew how long.
He leaned the cane against his desk and sat in the large leather chair. “There are things you need to know, and I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”
“I’m a good listener,” I said.
He glared at me for a moment, then turned to look out the window.
I followed his gaze, but I didn’t see anything outside. Maybe he just didn’t want to look at me anymore. Was he that bothered by me? Was it my presence? Was it having to protect me? Was it the fact that I’d noticed he needed help?