Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
He’s so attractive. Beautiful even. That ruined skin crisscrossed by a dozen puckered marks and scars only makes him that much more incredible. Fear lances into my stomach and I’m thinking this was a bad idea now that I’m close to him again. I can’t help but remember what he looked like down on his knees. His mouth between my legs.
I lick my lips, breath coming quick.
“Thought I’d see you here,” he says, turning away. “Come on, nobody else is around.”
He limps back inside. I glance over my shoulder before following him.
The locker room is relatively spare. Everything’s neat and clean, but worn down. Stefano’s sitting on a wooden bench, hunched over a bag, rooting around for something. He comes up with a roll of medical wrap and begins to wind it around his left fist.
“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping distance between us. Right now, he looks like he couldn’t beat a baby in a boxing match, but I get the sense that’d change really fast if he wanted to get violent.
“Broke a knuckle.” He grimaces and touches his side. “Maybe a rib too. And my nose.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Not the first time.”
I roll my eyes and walk over to his bag. He looks on curiously as I dig around until I find some gauze. I use that to wipe his face off, roll it into a tight pill, and shove it lightly up his nose.
He lets me do it without comment.
“Are you always like this? Acting like nothing fazes you?”
“Probably.”
I shake my head. “You know how much shit we’re in?”
“A little of it.”
“I’m drowning in shit, thanks to you.”
He touches my wrist as I pull away. “Pretty sure you made your own choices.”
I glare at him. “Let me go.”
He releases and I step back, wiping my hands on my jeans. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but he knocks me off balance. I feel dizzy and unsure of myself. Nobody else in the world makes me feel so small and insecure.
It pisses me off.
“I’m guessing you spoke with your grandfather,” he says, continuing to wrap his knuckles.
“We’re not doing it.” I cross my arms over my chest and take a defiant stance, legs slightly spread. “Just a matter of discussing how we get out of it.”
“That’s all?”
“There’s no way we’re getting married. I know we had a night together and you saved my life, but that’s crazy. You’re a literal stranger.” I warm up to my little speech. “We have no clue if we’re compatible. If our families want to come to some sort of arrangement, they can find other people to get hitched. I’m not going to be blackmailed into it.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Good, so you don’t want to do this either.” Relief hits me. I’m surprised by how worried I was.
He raises his eyebrows at me and shakes his head. “I didn’t say I don’t want to.”
And there it is. That was short-lived. My stomach lurches like a stone got dropped down my throat. My mouth opens and I stare at him before getting myself together. “They have something against you too.”
“Not exactly.” He finishes wrapping his hand and flexes it slightly, grimacing in pain.
“Then why in the world would you want to get married to me? We’re total opposites. You’re everything I don’t want.”
“That so?”
“Yes, that’s so. You’re a pit fighter and a criminal. Sure, we had good sex—”
“Great sex.”
“Mediocre sex at best, but that doesn’t mean we could spend our lives together.” Panic threatens to overwhelm me as I start to spiral and envision what it might be like as this guy’s wife. “We’ve got nothing in common. No goals, no values, nothing.”
“Except for fantastic sex.”
“Decent, maybe.” I glare at him, frustration filling me as he takes a shirt out and pulls it on. I almost wish he’d take that back off again. “Why would you want anything to do with me? You don’t know me at all. I could be terrible.”
“You could be,” he agrees as he packs the rest of his stuff. “But I’ve been missing something for a while now. These fights are my way of trying to find it again. I feel like myself when I’m in that ring, whatever that says about me. And I also felt it the night we spent together.” He stands with a groan, knees creaking. I don’t think I’ve heard him say this much all at once, except for when he was talking filthy to me in bed. He stares at me, expression dark and face beautiful. “I was ordered to make you my bride. I figured it might be worth trying out.”
“I don’t know what kind of midlife crisis you’re going through right now, but I don’t want anything to do with it.”
He stops and looks at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Midlife crisis?” he murmurs, lips pressed flat. “How old do you think I am?”