Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“He’s a lovely dog,” the woman says. “I’m Aida, by the way.”
“I know who you are,” I smirk. “Do you think my men found you by accident?”
She stares at me, head tilted, sassiness dripping from her features.
“Well?” she says after a pause.
“Well, what?”
She folds her arms, causing her breasts to squash under the pressure of her forearms, big mouth-watering breasts that make me want to spend hours exploring them, discovering all the different ways to make her nipples hard and make her moan.
I want to suck her nipples – fuck, I hope they’re big – until she’s red-raw with her pleasure, and then make her squirt and shiver just from that alone.
My manhood pulses and grows rock solid.
“It’s polite to tell somebody your name once they’ve given you theirs,” she snaps.
Fears flits across her eyes, but she’s hiding it well.
I respect the hell out of that.
“I’m Arturo Amato,” I snap, watching for her reaction.
But she just keeps staring.
“Okay? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
I almost chuckle, but bite down and catch it at the last moment. So her father never mentioned me. She must’ve led a cloistered life to have no idea who her father’s oldest friend and nemesis is.
I turn away, stroking Jackal’s head so he knows to follow.
“Wait. Where are you going?” she calls after me.
I don’t reply, just keep walking, clenching, and unclenching my fists as a way to relieve some of the tension moving through me.
Confusion whirs around me, a feeling I’m not used to at all.
I know one thing, though.
I’m not giving her back.
Ever.
Chapter Three
Aida
I wake the next morning expecting one of my father’s men to be knocking on the door, telling me my parents want me to join them for another one of our awkward, forced breakfasts. I almost groan that I want a few more minutes to live in my dreams when the full weight of yesterday comes hammering into me.
Stolen, captured by a man named Arturo Amato.
I close my eyes and remember the way he looked standing over me, screaming at my body – at my hot sex, my tingly nipples, the treacherous lustful beating of my heart – that I should in no way be attracted to this man.
And yet when he loomed over me, I felt things waking up inside of me, feelings I’ve never experienced before.
He was huge, at least seven foot, wearing a suit the same color as his hair—pure iron. His face was clean shaven and his eyes were a dark, near black brown that seemed to look into me, through me. His body was a hulking giant’s form, his muscles almost erupting out of his suit jacket, and yet the aloofness of his smirk made him seem commanding and shrewd and not like some big stupid muscleman at all.
For a crazy few seconds, as he stared at me, I thought he was going to grab me and shove me up against the wall, smash his lips against mine, and kiss me hard.
Stupid, stupid.
I sit up and look around the bedroom, still stunned that this is where the men brought me yesterday after Arturo left me in the basement. When the men marched in and nodded at me to stand, I could barely do it with the fear trying to pull me down.
I was sure they were going to drag me outside and put one of those guns to the back of my head.
Instead, I was led to a bedroom with a four poster bed, the sheets silk and so comfortable I couldn’t help but fall asleep last night. A balcony overlooks the large estate, but we’re on the third floor and the bedroom juts out from the rest of the house, making climbing down from it impossible. There’s a seating area in the corner, with a couch and two armchairs, and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.
Fur rugs, a corner bar stocked with soda and juice, and any other non-alcoholic beverage I could want.
An ensuite with a walk-in sauna and a large hot tub and waterfall shower.
The place is just generally, absurdly amazing.
As I sit up and stretch out, I forcibly tell myself that just because I had some confusing feelings about this man, and just because he’s keeping me in a room fit for royalty, it doesn’t excuse anything he’s done.
He still ordered me taken hostage.
He’s still keeping me against my will.
I stand up, the dread in my gut twisting harshly.
I can’t stop thinking about Mom fretting over me, sitting at the window with her Kindle in her lap like it always is – she adores escaping to other worlds – but not reading like she usually does. Just staring, and waiting for Dad to bring news about me.
She might think I’m dead.
Obviously, Snaps and the other men have made a full report to Dad by now, but they don’t know that the men decided to keep me alive. For all they know, I was shot the second I was out of sight and hearing range.