Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I didn’t disagree.
I stared at the ring, slipping it from its mooring. I held it up to the light, imagining how it would look on Effie’s finger. How I would feel seeing it.
If she would hate it.
Hate me.
With a low curse, I put it back in its box and poured more scotch. I switched off the light and sat on the sofa, thousands of thoughts swirling in my head.
I couldn’t take it back. I had claimed Effie, and within twenty-four hours, the word would be out.
No one would dare touch her or risk my wrath and revenge. And the Santinis would be only too happy to share what had already occurred.
There was no choice in the matter. She had to stay with me. Married to me, in many ways, she would be untouchable. I owed her that debt for putting us on this course. I would marry her, and she could live with Nonna at the estate. We could find common ground. Maybe have a baby or two to please Nonna. Effie could live a good life. She wouldn’t have to work, worry about money, or anything else. I would take care of her. Give her everything she wanted.
Except for love.
She was one of those girls. She wanted to be loved. Cherished. She deserved it, but it wasn’t something I could give her. I was incapable.
I loved Nonna. Luca. Even Aldo and Vi in my own way. But it wasn’t fully, with utter abandonment, the way Effie wanted to be loved. I cared, looked after, and fixed. That was what I did.
My mood grew darker the more I thought about it. I cursed Marianne Warner. I cursed my own stupid mouth. My lack of a soul.
I startled at the sound of Effie’s voice. She appeared in front of me, bringing with her that lovely scent that drifted in the air around her. “Roman?” she asked, her voice low and sleepy. “Are you all right?”
“Go back to bed, Effie.”
“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
I barked a laugh. “People like me love the dark.”
She sat on the coffee table in front of me. “People like you?”
I drained my glass of scotch. “People like me,” I repeated.
She switched on the light beside me, making me utter a curse and cover my eyes. She said nothing for a moment, then to my shock, slid down on her knees between my splayed legs. She ran her hands over my thighs in what I knew she meant to be a soothing manner. My body tightened at her touch, the lust I felt for her roaring through my entire being.
“Roman,” she murmured. “What is it? Tell me what you need.”
I met her gaze. Goddamn it, I swore I could see her soul in the luminous depths. Her sweetness and beauty of her very being showed in her eyes. No one looked at me the way she did.
She stared back at me with nothing but concern and worry in her expression. The blue was vivid in her pale face, the dark of her hair setting off her creamy skin. She wore another shirt of mine. It was too large, and the neckline was stretched, hanging off one shoulder. I drank in the expanse of skin showing. Our eyes locked and held, and before I could think, I leaned down, cupping her face. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. I bent close, our lips almost touching.
“What do I need, Little Tiger? I need the one thing I can’t have.”
“Which is?”
“You. I fucking need you.”
“And you hate that.”
“Yes. But it’s true. I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” I brushed my mouth over her trembling lips. “Tell me I can have you. Don’t deny me,” I begged, my voice strained, my body tense and anxious. I never begged. But for her, I would.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I yanked her into my arms.
She was mine.
EFFIE
I woke up to an odd noise, and I looked around, confused. The door to the bedroom was open, but the office down the hall was dark. Then I heard it again. The sound of glass moving. Roman was in his office. I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was only just past midnight. He usually wasn’t back until later.
I slid from the bed and padded down the hall, stopping at the entryway to the office. The room was dim, but there was enough light from the windows that I could see Roman sitting on the sofa. A bottle of scotch was on the table in front of him. He was hunched over, the glass hanging loosely from his hands. His head was down, and his forearms rested on his thighs. His body screamed exhaustion and tension. Always aware, he didn’t even notice I was there.
I stood in front of him.
“Roman?” I asked quietly. “Are you all right?”