Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“You’re weaponizing my weakness,” I groan as he tears it in half and adds each piece to the pasta to melt. “This feels downright pornographic.”
“Only you would say that about cheese.” He presses me against the counter, twisting his fingers in my hair and angling my head back.
“Not just cheese,” I answer a little too breathlessly. “You and burrata.”
“If that’s your kink, I guess we can make it work.” His lips coast over my throat, torturing me with kisses that get progressively more feral.
“If you keep doing that, we might not even make it to burrata.”
He nips my neck, and I let out a yelp that makes him laugh. Then he smacks me on the ass and tells me to eat my dinner.
It all feels weirdly domestic, and a few months ago, it definitely would have freaked me out. But now, I could think of worse things than a hot Italian man teaching me how to cook.
As we sit down, I connect to my Bluetooth speaker and scroll through my Lana Del Rey playlist, selecting one of my favorite songs. A few seconds later, the haunting lyrics to “Hope is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have” drift from the speaker. It plays for a minute before Cristian reaches over and steals my phone, and I watch in confusion as he scrolls through the same playlist.
He chooses a different song, and it takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, our gazes collide.
It was no accident he chose to play Lana’s “Video Games” instead. They are two very different vibes—one about how perilous hope can be, and the other about the possibility of happiness with the right person.
I get the message, but neither of us acknowledges it.
We eat a quiet dinner together, and after Pepe shows up to collect Goliath, Cristian catches up on a few emails while I read.
Eventually, we end up back in my bed, with him inside me.
It all feels sort of dreamlike. Almost too good to be true.
But I guess that’s the thing about gut instincts.
They rarely steer you wrong.
A violent crash jolts me awake, followed by the sound of blaring alarms.
It takes a second to register that it’s not a dream, and when I open my eyes, I catch a blur of movement in the room.
Cristian is already up, yanking on his pants, gun in hand.
I sit up in a panic, dread prickling my skin as my gaze drifts to the hallway. An orange glow flickers across the wall, reflecting what looks like a fire in the living room.
“What’s happening?” I choke out.
“Put this on.” Cristian tosses me my robe as I scramble across the bed.
He edges toward the bedroom door, tension drawing his muscles tight. After a quick glance down the hall, he turns to face me, and I know it’s bad.
In that split second, I realize I’m about to lose everything.
“We have to go,” he says.
I’m shaking so badly, he has to help me with my robe, then he grabs a blanket from the bed and wraps that around me too.
Before I can even try to stand on my own, he lifts me into his arms, and I cling to him. But as he heads for the window, my gaze settles on the nightstand.
“Wait,” I cry out. “My music box.”
It’s the only thing I can’t replace, and Cristian’s focus is so intense, I’m not even sure he hears me. But my heart floods with relief when he turns around and lets me grab it.
Down the hall, more glass shatters, and someone calls out for Cristian. When he opens the bedroom window, one of the guards is already there, and it sounds like another one’s trying to get in the front of the house.
“What the fuck happened?” Cristian growls.
“He must have found a blind spot during the shift change,” the guard answers. “We have men on the ground trying to track him. He came in on foot.”
“Did you get a visual?” Cristian asks.
“Just a flash of dark clothing.”
Cristian lets out a frustrated breath as he lowers me out the window. Once I’m safely on the ground, he jumps out behind me and picks me back up.
As he carries me around the side of the house, we find two other guards trying to contain the fire from outside the living room windows. One has a hose, and the other has a fire extinguisher, but it looks like a lost cause.
“Try to save what you can,” Cristian tells them as we pass by. “I’m taking her to a secure location, then I’ll be back.”
The men reply, but I don’t hear what they say. All I can do is stare in horror as I watch the life I built go up in literal smoke.
Cristian does a quick sweep of the car before he opens the door and settles me into the passenger seat. When he sees the devastation on my face, he lets out a rough breath and crouches down in front of me.