Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
The tablecloths here probably cost more than most people’s rent.
“This…this is too much,” she says softly.
“You belong here, sweetie,” I tell her. “This whole city is yours now.”
The waiter appears with a bottle of champagne—Dom Perignon, the best. Isabella’s eyes widen at the label.
“Viktor, you can’t be serious—”
“For the woman who brought me back to life,” I say, raising my glass once it’s poured.
Bella leans in and whispers, her hands shaking. “I—I’m not even old enough to drink.”
For a moment, I’m stunned. How could I have forgotten? I’m so used to being around dark men and criminals that Bella’s moral virtue has me feeling like the odd one out.
“Of course,” I laugh, turning to the waiter. “Some ice water.”
He nods and returns quickly with a crystal water pitcher and pours her a glass.
We cheers and drink together. I watch her throat as she swallows, fighting the urge to pull her to me and force her down between my legs to claim her mouth in front of everyone.
Hell, I wouldn’t care if these people saw me naked. But they’ll never see more of Bella than what they’re seeing now.
The courses come one after the other. Oysters that make her giggle as she struggles with the shell. Lobster so tender it melts on the tongue. Watching her experience each dish is a joy like I’ve never known. It’s magic, seeing her eyes light up with every new taste.
“Try this,” I say when dessert arrives, honey roasted figs with brown butter cake. I hold the spoon to her lips, watch her luscious lips close around it and her eyes flutter as she lets out a soft moan.
The sound shoots right through me, and I have to shift in my seat as my cock hardens.
“You’re so sexy,” I growl, low enough that only she can hear. “You’re trying to kill me.”
Her eyes blaze back at me, playful and knowing. “Is it working?”
“You’re the most gorgeous woman alive, Bella. You have no idea just how much you mean to me.”
“You’re exaggerating—”
“I’m speaking the truth.” I lean forward, my eyes fixed on hers. “You melted my heart—that block of ice I was sure would remain there forever.”
Her eyes begin to water. “Viktor—”
“I’ve built my entire life on power,” I tell her, stroking my thumb across her knuckles. “I thought that was enough. But when you walked into my life, you changed everything.”
“I’m gonna cry and mess up my makeup.”
“You don’t need makeup, gorgeous.” I smile. “I’ll always find you beautiful. Always.”
I lean in, cup her neck with my palm, and pull her close. “Viktor, everyone’s watching!”
“Let them,” I tell her. “Let them see you’re mine.”
I kiss my queen.
Not the intense, sensual, devouring kiss from our private moments but something softer. Something that speaks to promises of tomorrow, our future together, a future I never thought I would want with any woman.
The restaurant goes silent. The Ice Man of New York showing affection in public. Showing weakness.
Showing his heart…
But I don’t care. When I pull back, Bella’s cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen. She’s trembling. I see the goosebumps on her skin.
“Take me home,” she whimpers.
I see the look in her eyes. She wants what I want. Christ, we’re made for each other.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye. A man three tables over has his phone raised, clearly taking pictures of us—of her.
Rage floods through me in an instant.
How dare he?!
Can’t he see she belongs to me? Does he not know who the fuck I am? If he thinks he can steal an image of my queen and use it for God knows what, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Viktor?” Bella notices me looking over at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Gimmie a moment, angel.”
I stand and cross the room, controlling myself so I don’t make a scene. This is Bella’s night out more than it is mine, and I don’t want to ruin it for her.
My men start to move with me, but I wave them back with a simple hand motion.
The photographer—some young trust fund baby by the look of him—goes pale when I step up to his table.
“That’s a nice phone you got there,” I say. My tone is neutral. My eyes are not.
“Mr. Morelli—” He’s stammering immediately. “I—”
I pluck the phone from his quivering hands. “Was just taking pictures of my woman?”
He glances over at his friend, but he’s even smaller and definitely not interested in getting involved.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers as I crunch the phone in my grip. Glass and metal snap like paper, the pieces falling onto his plate and into his wine.
I lean in close, so only he can hear me. “Next time, it won’t be the phone that breaks. Understand me?”
“I’m sorry,” he replies quickly. “I shouldn’t have…”
I stand, straightening my cuffs. Anton steps up beside me. I can see in his eyes he’s ready for whatever.