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)
“Give me a name.” His voice is calm, but absolute.
I swallow, and he tracks the movement with his eyes, all the way down to my rapidly beating pulse. His gaze lingers there for a moment before dipping lower, to my hardened nipples scraping against the thin fabric of my tank.
Darkness pools in his eyes as my breath grows shallow, and I know I’m not imagining the electricity between us now.
I drink in the sight of him, and it’s impossible to miss the rigid set of his muscles or the brutal hardness straining beneath his trousers.
It’s wildly inconvenient, considering I swore I wouldn’t indulge this thought again.
I can only be grateful he’s holding himself back, because right now, I’d probably let him teach me a very good lesson.
None of this makes sense, but I know there has to be a simple explanation. He’s had it out for me for a while, and his body is channeling all that pent-up irritation into the idea of a good old-fashioned hate fuck.
We can’t go there, and we both know it. So I just need to end whatever the hell is happening right now.
“I can’t give you a name,” I answer breathlessly. “So if you don’t mind—”
I try to slip away, but he places his other palm on the wall beside my head, caging me in with his extraordinarily large body. It’s hard not to look at that crisp white shirt stretching across his broad chest, or his ridiculously hot forearms flexing beside me.
Lord, give me strength.
We maintain an uncomfortable level of eye contact as the low, rough cadence of his words set me on fire.
“This is your one and only chance to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, there will be consequences.”
My mind goes straight to the gutter, and I consider how bad the consequences could really be. But then I realize how insane this is.
“Look, I get that this is what the Vitales do.” I gesture to my living room, where they’ve completely taken over my house. “But I’m not property of the Cosa Nostra. You can’t control me.”
A dark smile teases his lips as he releases me from the prison of his arms and takes a step back.
He doesn’t even have to say anything. That look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
He can, and he will.
Wordlessly, he leaves the bathroom, and I stare after him as my mind reels. Maybe I shouldn’t have provoked him, because it would take very little for him to upend my life if he felt like it.
One call from him could terminate my employment and break my lease. I don’t want to think Cristian would do any of that, but the Vitale men aren’t exactly known for being well-adjusted. Romeo orchestrated an elaborate plan to move Gabi out of her apartment and into their penthouse so he could stalk her up close. And Angelo—well, he disappeared his twin brother and took his place at the altar to marry Abella.
Calling them anything less than unhinged would be generous.
As I step into the shower with that thought rattling around my mind, there’s only one question that remains.
How far will Cristian go to prove his point?
10
CHANTEL
After an extra-long shower, I change into some leggings, a sports bra, and a wrap top and pad down the hall with my yoga mat.
Part of me is hoping that the men will be gone by now and I can just pretend none of this ever happened. But when I get to the living room, I find Cristian is still here, and he’s sitting on a new sofa.
“What the hell is that?” I sputter.
He continues tapping out a message on his phone without bothering to glance up at me. “What does it look like?”
“I don’t need you to buy me a sofa. I already had one.”
“That wasn’t a sofa. It was dollhouse furniture.”
It occurs to me as I study the much larger sofa that he slept on mine last night, and clearly he didn’t like it.
A seed of paranoia sprouts inside me as I consider that he bought this for a reason.
“You’re not staying here,” I blurt.
He lifts his gaze to mine, appraising me with an annoyingly calm expression. “Remember what I said about consequences?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“If there’s one thing you should know about me, ladroncina, it’s that I never say anything I don’t mean.”
I stare at him, at a loss for words.
Realistically, I know I only have myself to blame for this. I practically threw down the gauntlet in the bathroom when I challenged him. But the thought of having him in my personal space with this powder keg of tension between us is a recipe for disaster.
A hint of satisfaction flickers in the depths of his dark eyes as he waits for my reaction. For a man who takes pleasure in fighting with me, engaging him would only give him what he wants. It would also be a waste of breath, because I know I won’t change his mind. The best I can do is hope that he gets bored and realizes this so-called stalker isn’t worth his time.