Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“Franco,” she sighs, eyes unfocused as she reaches up and caresses my face.
I growl, “Don’t.” As if my words are a wake-up call, her eyes shoot open completely and she’s upset. A stone-cold look comes over her face.
“Sorry, Mr. Fiore.” She attempts to get off me, but it’s not safe yet. I’m not sure she’s even safe with me, but there’s no way I could ever let her go.
“Hold on. Let’s get you safely inside to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she huffs like we’re not in the middle of a fucking blizzard, miles from civilization. “I was just a little disoriented and cold for a minute.”
“Don’t argue with me. I won’t tolerate it.” I hop off the snowmobile and then carry her in my arms. Goodness, it feels too damn good.
“God, you really are a beast,” she huffs, refusing to look at me, and my world deflates. All hopes I had fly right out the window. I take her through the house and up to my bedroom where Rita has prepared the bath.
“Can you handle getting undressed by yourself?” I grunt as I set her on the bench I had added to the bathroom after my injuries. The bleeding on her forehead has stopped, and her temper proves she’s wide awake now.
She pales and then says, “Yes.” I leave her there, even though my soul demands I stay and watch to assure myself that she’s all right. Or at least what the noble version of me would do, but like she said: I’m a beast, and that part of me wants to watch her strip naked and take what I desire.
Shutting the door to my bedroom, I press my head against the cool wood. “Get it together, man. She doesn’t want you.” My phone blares in my pocket, reminding me that Fabio’s probably frantic, waiting for news about Isabelle.
“Yes,” I snarl, letting my frustration color every word that leaves my mouth.
“Is she okay?”
“As best as can be. Why did you tell her to come here?” I bark out, hating and loving that she’s in my home—the home I’ve wanted to share with her for the rest of our days. I’ve pictured so many moments like Christmas with her and our kids by the tree as they dig for their gifts.
“She was supposed to make our family dinner tonight as a present to you,” my brother explains as if somehow sending her through this shitty weather is justified. What if she’d wrecked and couldn’t call for help?
“No one asked you to do that. Francois is quite capable of cooking our meal.”
“You mean the chef you let go on holiday?” Yeah, I just assumed when Fabio said he’d be handling dinner on Christmas Eve, I thought he meant he’d bring food from the restaurant in Rochester not far from here. I had no idea he’d send the love of my life, my obsession, in the middle of a snowstorm.
“Well, you can do it, then,” I spit out.
“What is up your ass? Is she hurt?”
“She doesn’t belong here.” Doesn’t belong here stealing my damn heart and making me long for things that I can never have. “She’s not hurt, or so she says,” I add, remembering his question.
“Then what the hell? I sent her ahead of us, and you’re upset about it like you don’t want her in your home.”
“Just drop it. It doesn’t matter. We’re stuck here until the weather improves.” Hearing the water slosh around, I remember that I’m still in here and she doesn’t have any clothes to wear. I dig through some of Mia’s things and also find a gift I’d bought just for Isabelle. I’ve seen her so many times, memorized everything about her, including her favorite color.
Leaving the room, I head downstairs to prepare for the potential loss of power. I have backup generators and also the fireplace to light when the time comes.
The clock slowly ticks by as I wait for her to come downstairs. It’s nearly an hour, and then a panic sets in that she might have fallen asleep in the tub. I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the rush of pain running through my leg. Throwing open the bedroom door, I see my sweet Isabelle sleeping on the bed in just a towel. Her face is marred by tear stains. Shit. Is she hurting?
I reach out and press my hand to her forehead. It’s not hot or cold, so that’s good news. Her breathing is steady, but then she turns just slightly and her towel slips. I stand frozen for a moment, mouth gaping like a fool, wanting to strip the rest of the cotton from her body and lick her all over. She’s fucking perfection.
“Get enough of a show?” she hisses.
I spin around and attempt to apologize. “Um… I’m sorry. I was just checking on you, and well, you just turned.”