Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“You are,” I say. “Look.” And I hold the back of the camera out to her so that she can see the image. She stares down at her face that’s been captured digitally in fine detail and then looks up at me—and I’m lost. Lost in the magic of her dark, dark gaze. “See,” I murmur. “You’re stunning.” Reaching forward, I tip up her chin and, leaning down, inching closer and closer so she has a chance to move away, I brush my lips against hers. She gasps, and as I pull back, she touches her fingers to her mouth, her eyes growing rounder.
“That’s how I feel,” I whisper, my heart pounding.
Will she slap me? Will she flee?
She stares at me. An ethereal vision in the muted light, she tentatively raises her hand and traces my lips with her fingertips. I freeze, closing my eyes as her tender touch reverberates through my body.
I daren’t breathe.
I don’t want to frighten her away.
I feel her feather-light touch, everywhere.
Everywhere.
Fuck.
And before I can stop myself, I pull her into my embrace and wrap my arms around her. She melts against the length of my body, her warmth leaching into me.
Oh, man, the feel of her.
I slide my fingers under her scarf and gently slip it off her head. Clasping her plait at the base of her neck, I tug lightly, bringing her lips up to mine. “Alessia,” I breathe, and kiss her again, softly, slowly, so as not to frighten her. She stills in my arms, then brings her hands up to clutch my biceps, closing her eyes as she accepts me.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue teasing her lips, and she opens her mouth.
Fuck.
She tastes of warmth and grace and sweet seduction. Her tongue hesitant and faltering against mine. It’s captivating. It’s arousing.
I have to hold myself back. I want nothing more than to bury myself in this girl—but I don’t think she’ll let me. I draw back. “What’s my name?” I murmur against her lips.
“Mister,” she whispers as I run my thumb down her cheek.
“Maxim. Say Maxim.”
“Maxim,” she breathes.
“Yes.” I love the sound of my name in her accent.
See, that wasn’t so hard.
Suddenly there’s a loud, insistent banging on the front door.
Who the hell is that? How did they get into the building?
Reluctantly I step back. “Don’t go anywhere.” I hold up my finger in warning.
“Open the door, Mr. Trev…an!” a disembodied voice bellows from outside. “Immigration!”
“Oh, no,” Alessia whispers, and she clutches her throat, her eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t be afraid.”
The knock rattles the door once more. “Mr. Trev…yan!” The voice is perceptibly louder.
“I’ll deal with this,” I mutter, pissed off that we’ve been interrupted. Leaving Alessia in the darkroom, I head down the hallway.
Through the peephole in the front door, I assess the two men outside. One is short, the other is tall, and both are dressed in cheap gray suits and black parkas. They don’t look particularly official. I pause, debating whether or not to answer. But I should find out why they’re here and if it’s anything to do with Alessia.
I thread the sturdy security chain through the catch and open the door.
One of the men tries to burst in, but with my body pressed against the door, the chain holds. He’s the short one. Thickset and balding, he oozes aggression from every pore in his body and from his sly, shrewd eyes. “Where is she, mister?” he barks.
I recoil.
Who are these lowlifes?
Baldy’s partner looms behind him: thin, silent, and menacing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“Can I see some ID?” My voice is equally menacing.
“Open the door. We’re from immigration, and we believe you have a failed asylum seeker in your apartment.” The stocky guy speaks again as his nostrils flare in anger. He has a distinct Eastern European accent.
“You need a warrant to search these premises. Where is it?” I hiss with the authority that comes from a life of privilege and several years at one of the best public schools in Britain.
The large man hesitates for a moment, and I smell a rat.
Who the fuck are these men?
“Your warrant, where is it?” I snarl.
Baldy looks uncertainly at his cohort.
“Where is the girl?” The tall, thin bloke speaks.
“There is no one here but me. Who are you looking for?”
“A girl—”
“Aren’t we all?” I sneer. “Now, can I suggest you fuck off and come back with a warrant or I’ll call the police.” Taking my phone out of my back pocket, I hold it up in front of them. “But just so we’re clear. There are no girls here, let alone illegal immigrants.” I lie easily, a skill that’s also a product of several years at one of the best public schools in Britain. “Shall I call the police?”
Both of them take a step back.