Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I look up at Cristiano, and his gaze drops from my eyes to my lips.
Okay, Isabel, be bold.
I step away from him so I can dip my toes into the water, which is blissfully cold without being frigid. I step in, slowly descending the few steps before I give Cristiano a demure smile over my shoulder. “Swim with me?”
His expression is so intense, so intimidating, a shiver racks my spine as he steps in after me. He takes up way too much space. Now I know the pool could fit a dozen people or one Cristiano.
“Be careful with your arm,” he warns. “There’s a ledge over there. Go sit.”
I do, but not until I’ve dipped back and gotten my hair wet. The pool feels wonderful after sunbathing all morning.
Cristiano doesn’t follow me. Instead, he plunges down beneath the water, sliding under the surface and reemerging near the infinity edge dripping wet, his inky-black hair slicked back. He props his hands on the glass, looking out at the sea, avoiding me. The wind carries trickles of conversation and music from the deck below us, but we feel far enough away. Cristiano adjusts his grip on the wall and water drips from his hair, sluicing down the contours of his muscular back.
I look at my arm propped on the side of the pool, my tattoo safely covered. “I had an illuminating conversation with Daniella just now.”
Cristiano doesn’t turn around. “Hmm?”
I swallow past my nerves. “She told me you don’t sleep around with Aura employees. She tried to warn me away from you as a favor.”
He finally looks back at me. He’s never been more gorgeous than he is right now with the sun pouring down on him, highlighting the cut of his cheekbones and sharp jaw, his dark lashes wet and clustered together.
“I’m just wondering if I should take her advice…”
My heart flutters as I resist the urge to flush or fidget or outright run. If I were someone listening in on this conversation right now, my jaw would drop. Who is this girl? I barely recognize this version of myself, but I like her.
Cristiano wipes a smile off his full lips and cuts through the water to take a seat on the ledge directly across from me, farther away than I would like. Maybe it’s good, though; from over there he won’t realize how much I’m shaking with nerves.
His head tips to the side. “Have you dated much, Isabel?”
He makes the question sound sinister.
I swallow. “Some.”
“Men like me?”
I almost laugh. Does he think men like him grow on trees? Like there are Cristianos on every street corner? Men with obsidian-black hair and dark, calculating eyes, deep dimples that mock and charm at the same time?
“Some.”
The stretch of his smile tells me he knows I’m lying. I hate him for burrowing so deep so fast. I want to turn the tables, shine the light on him.
“What about you? Have you dated women like me before?”
Women. It’s almost laughable. Right now, I feel every bit the girl I am—silly and inexperienced.
His expression softens, his gaze almost tender when he shakes his head. His eyes lock with mine. “No.”
I don’t know how to take that except as a rejection. Can he tell how naive I am? I’ve always gone for the polite guys, the ones who wait for weeks before they kiss me, and even then, it’s just a peck. Boys with long names that end in III or IV. Boys who want me for my money. Oh sure, they tell me I’m pretty and act interested enough, but it’s impossible to really know their true intentions. With them, I never felt anything but stiffness and obligation.
With Cristiano, there’s nothing but white-hot desire.
I look down at my tattoo, swallow past any last bit of indecision, and then peer up coyly from beneath my lashes. “Am I here on this yacht so you can watch over me? Or is there something else you want to do…”
I watch as the meaning of my question settles over him. His jaw clenches, the muscle pulling taut. “Come here,” he beckons.
A flare of heat spreads low in my belly as I push off my side of the pool. I don’t know if he wants me to take a seat on the ledge beside him or not, but I don’t have to wonder for long. The moment I’m within arm’s reach, he takes ahold of my waist and tugs me close, pinning me between his legs beneath the water.
Panic, fear, and lust all war inside me. He takes my arm and props it up on his shoulder to ensure my tattoo doesn’t get wet. I’m glad he’s thinking about it; that makes one of us. Once he’s certain I won’t accidentally drop my arm in the water, he grabs my waist again, tightening his grip, showing me just how big his hands feel on my body. I sway even closer to him and press my palm against his warm chest.