Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
I press myself against the wall. “You’re a horrible man!”
To my shock, he drops his head and captures my mouth with his. I gasp, and he slips his tongue into my mouth and tastes me. His tongue hooks mine, pulls it into his mouth and sucks it. This kiss is nothing, nothing like the chaste kiss back in the cathedral. Pleasure spreads like wildfire through my body and I think the kiss will go on forever, but the moment a moan drops from my lips, he pulls away putting several feet between us.
I am astounded.
Ashamed and breathing heavily, I catch his gaze, expecting to see mockery. Instead, his eyes are full of rage, which quite frankly, I do not understand, I am the one who has been assaulted here.
“Enjoy your solitude, Madame. I’m sure I’ll find a willing body elsewhere in the city of love. Bonne nuit.”
I am struck dumb as I watch him walk out of the room. For a full minute, I’m too astonished to do anything, then I fall on the big lonely bed. Good God! My heart is beating so freaking fast I must surely be at risk of a massive coronary attack alone in Paris.
Chapter Three
VALENTINO
Francesca fucking Barbieri.
There is a growl rumbling deep in my throat, but my cock is on fire as I walk out of the room and leave her in her crumpled swathe of pearls, tulle, and silk. No bride has looked as good as she did when she stepped onto the aisle. A damn goddess, no less. And ever since, fucking hours later, I’ve been tormented by the need to rip that damn dress off, throw her against the nearest bed or wall, and fuck her until the fiery hate in her eyes consumes me.
Great! It’s only the first night of our ‘honeymoon’, and I’m already going crazy. Every encounter with her leaves me this way: horny, unsatisfied, crazy, and filled with impotent rage. I’ve got a whole week of blue balls to look forward to.
I find you repulsive.
The little compulsive liar.
As if I can’t see the way her breath quickens every time I get near her, or how hard she tries to avoid my touch because of the effect it has on her. The pocket-sized spitfire wants me, but she will fight me to her last breath it seems. It’ll take fire and brimstone before she admits to wanting me. But as much as I hunger for the minx, I will never touch her until she comes to me. The last thing I want is to fuck an unwilling woman. It’s not an exaggeration to say there are thousands of women out there… waiting... dying… for an opportunity to spend a night with me.
I need to let off steam, and I’m going to do that by burying myself in some bitch. I’ll find someone who reminds me of Francesca and that will do me fine. Fuck her for thinking she is too special for me.
I reach the foyer and my erection is still raging hard. I hate how much power the miniature fire-breathing dragon has over me. She will never know, but oh fuck, she has me tied up in a thousand knots.
“Boss.” Dutch appears beside me as I approach the black Audi.
He is my right-hand man and, in a way, the closest person to me. He has the battered face of a boxer. He’s at least a foot shorter than me, but he makes up for it in pure muscle mass and can run through a dozen men in ten minutes.
I’m surrounded by a team of highly trained and highly paid men at all times, but they’re always in the shadows and tasked to appear only in the event of trouble. The only two people allowed to be beside me are Dutch and Vance. As if reading my thoughts, Vance also materializes from the shadows and climbs behind the wheel.
Where Dutch is stout as a bull, Vance is tall and wiry. However, his thin frame is deceptive. Vance is fast, efficient, and can sneak in and out like smoke before you even know he was there. Dutch takes the passenger seat while I get into the backseat.
They don’t ask where I’m headed because, being the two closest to me, they know where I always go to unwind whenever I’m in Paris. A phone goes off, and Vance glances at me cryptically after glancing at the device.
“Franco Barbieri,” he says.
I frown, listening to the phone ring for a moment before putting the buds in my ear. Vance immediately connects the call to my buds. I hear Franco’s old but distinguished voice a second later.
“Don Barone.”
“What is it?” My voice is brusque. The only reason I gave him direct contact to me is because I was marrying his granddaughter, and the coffin dodger is already fucking abusing that privilege. I’m horny as fuck, and it’s all his granddaughter’s fault. There was a time when I would have placed an order for his head to be brought to me on a plate.