Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I toss my cell phone onto the bedside table. I can’t take that. I grab my favorite pair of pajamas and my sneakers and thrust them into the suitcase. Not my tablet, not my earbuds, nothing with an electronic signal. But I can take the book I’m currently reading and my makeup bag. I chose three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts, and an entire drawer of underwear and socks.
I can buy whatever else I need. I’ll go to the college and grab Brandon. He’ll be upset, but what else can I do? Better upset than dead. I’ll have to explain to him what is happening and beg him to come with me. I send a silent prayer to the universe that Brandon won’t give me too much trouble. I know he’s sick of running, and he’s found peace with his college friends. But it’s too risky with Francisco and our father’s enemies still out there. We’ve got no choice but to go underground again.
I peel the curtains open and check the parking lot. So far, so good. I hurry to the kitchen, where I grab whatever snacks don’t need refrigeration. I’m sitting down to tie my shoes when there’s a knock on the door.
Crap. I wasn’t fast enough. I exhale a steady stream of air, all the while berating myself for not packing the night before. I should have been prepared. Why wasn’t I prepared? Was it because I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this? Had I somehow believed that Francisco wouldn’t care, even though I had seen subtle signs of his possessiveness?
I know it’s him. If it isn’t him, then it’s one of his men sent to collect me. I wish there was a back door I could sneak out, but there’s only one entrance. I wonder if I can open the bathroom window and climb out, but I’m on the third floor.
Hanging my head, I go to answer the door. My heart is beating in my throat. I’m scared and nauseous, but almost relieved. I want to see him. I want him to fight for me. As stupid as that sounds, I’m flattered that he’s come.
On the other side of the door, I expect to see a handful of bodyguards. But there’s no one other than Francisco. He’s alone, which is probably very rare. What I know of the mafia is that the don doesn’t go anywhere without protection. They’re probably lurking somewhere just out of sight, giving their boss space to make his peace.
“I can’t stay,” I say softly.
This feels more like a romantic breakup than a runaway scenario. There’s no negative energy surrounding him. He seems sad, but not threatening or vindictive. Suddenly, I’m more worried about breaking his heart than I am about escaping with my life.
“Please,” he replies, not making a move. “I hate to see you go.”
“I can’t,” I repeat, unable to come up with more efficient words.
“Marlena…” Francisco begins, taking a step toward me.
I back up half a step, not because I’m scared but because I’m now deeply aware of his presence. I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. In fact, I’m afraid he might kiss me. This thing is complicated enough without bringing sex into the picture.
I get a flashback of my dream from the previous night. I was kneeling above him on the bed in the middle of the dance floor, his thick cock in my hand. I blink twice to clear my head, terrified that he’ll see right through me.
“I care about you,” Francisco says. “I would never hurt you or allow you to be hurt.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I realize I do know. He’s not a threat to me, at least not in the traditional sense.
“Dammit,” Francisco swears, closing the distance between us in one rapid step.
He threads a hand behind my back and pulls me close. I barely have time to breathe before he crushes his lips to mine. And then I’m flying, and it’s a thousand times better than any dream.
This is dirty and uncensored. I want him, not with my mind or my heart, but with my soul. He’s stirring something deep inside me that goes straight to my core. I’m positive he would be a ferocious lover, and for the life of me, I can’t think of a single reason to resist.
Our kiss enters a new phase, one that promises much more than simple lip action. In my delirium, I consider undressing him. Tossing his suit jacket away and undoing the buttons on the front of his shirt one by one, I could signal that I am ready, willing, and able. But then panic takes hold. This isn’t what I want. I know how dangerous it is to be associated with a mobster. I can’t in good conscience let this go any further.