Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Okay, sweetheart? Are you… I mean, did I…” My voice trailed off, and I had to roll my eyes at myself. “Was it too painful?”
“It was anything but. You were wonderful, Marcus. You made me feel…perfect.”
I held her tighter. “You are, Missy.”
“Aside from the back-talking, headstrong, opinionated side, you mean?” she teased.
“Well, almost perfect.” I chuckled.
“Am I forgiven?” she asked quietly.
“We’re not talking about that right now. Right now, it’s only about us. Nothing else.”
The room was quiet for a moment, and I looked up, not surprised to see her eyes closed. I pressed a kiss to her collarbone and rested my head back on her chest.
Within seconds, I was asleep.
Chapter Eight
Missy
He fell asleep fast. He’d been looking tired the past couple of days, so given what had just happened plus that fact, I wasn’t surprised. I liked how he felt, relaxed and heavy on my chest, his arm around me possessively, his head over my heart. I was certain it was still beating fast from our lovemaking.
Fucking?
I wasn’t sure what I’d call it. What Marcus would call it. I only knew it was pretty spectacular.
I hadn’t gone out of my way to stay a virgin, but I’d never met anyone I’d wanted to sleep with either. I had been in a couple of casual relationships at university, and we’d fooled around, but never like this. Nothing ever had the intensity behind it that a relationship with Marcus had. Even the night he’d pulled me out of that horrible cage, there had been something between us.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was grateful when he showed up at the store. Even with his barely controlled anger, I was happy to see him—not that I would ever tell him. He was so sexy with his scowls and low, empty threats. Threats that made me hyperaware of just how attractive he was and how much I wanted him. I knew, without a doubt, he would never intentionally hurt me. It didn’t matter if I was recovering, tired, or even if he was pissed with me. When he pushed himself close, I only wanted him closer.
With his dark hair and piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and well-defined muscles, he attracted a lot of female attention. I noticed the admiring and frank stares of many women as we walked around the store. He didn’t seem to notice, his entire concentration focused on me. Sofia had told me he was thirty-four when I’d asked her, which made him ten years my senior, but that didn’t bother me.
What I didn’t want was for him to see me only as a victim he had to protect. I wanted him to see me for me. Melissa. A woman who saw him for what he was—a sexy man she wanted to know better.
I glanced down, noting how long his eyelashes were. They would make most women envious. He had a long, straight nose, and his bottom lip was fuller than his top one. It stuck out a little while he slept, pursing on occasion as if bestowing a kiss in his sleep to someone. I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling at the sound of contentment he made and the way his arm tightened as he pressed closer, as if trying to bury himself inside me.
I traced his shoulder, feeling a scar there. I had noticed two others when he had discarded his shirt—one on his sternum and another low on his hip. No doubt casualties of the job. What he did was dangerous, probably more so than I even realized. A shiver went through me thinking of the hazardous nature of what he did and how he put himself at risk to save others, if he was who I thought he was. The thought of it made me hold him a little tighter as a wave of emotion swelled.
He lifted his head, his gaze drowsy but still potent. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I, ah, I have to pee, and you’re holding me captive.”
He pressed a kiss to my chest, rolling over and scrubbing his hand over his face. “Don’t be long.” He was out again instantly.
I eased to my side so I could study him. His profile was chiseled and masculine. His skin was a golden color, not only from his heritage but deepened by time in the sun. He told me he liked to spend a lot of time up on the roof in his garden. He was a contrast to me. In control and intense with his men. Organized and meticulous from what I had observed and heard since I’d been here. His team treated him with respect and deference. But with me, he was gentle and considerate. Tender, even when we were alone. But even then, I sensed the power of his body, the sharpness of his mind. He was always thinking. Always on alert.