Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
The man laughed, moving closer. His breath smelled like mint trying to cover something sour. “Sounds like you need better company.”
“Yes!” The word came out too loud. Several people turned to stare. “Yes, I need a new man. A faithful one. Are you faithful?”
“Absolutely.”
“Liar.” She tried to point at him but missed, her finger landing somewhere near his ear. “All men are liars. My father was a liar. Told my mama he loved her then ran off with his secretary. Got himself killed trying to impress her with stolen money. Mama cried every night after. Her pillow smelled like tears and the vanilla extract she used to hide the wine on her breath.”
“That’s very sad.” His hand landed on her thigh, hot through the thin fabric of her dress.
“Very sad,” she agreed, then frowned at his hand. “Why are you touching me? I need to find a faithful man. Not you. Someone else. Someone who tells his wife he loves her every single day.”
She pushed off the barstool, swaying dangerously. The floor tilted like a ship in storm, but she had a mission now. Find a faithful man. Prove they existed.
She approached a man at the bar. “Excuse me, sir. Are you faithful to your wife?”
He blinked at her. “I’m not married.”
“Oh.” She patted his arm consolingly. “That’s probably for the best. My husband is very handsome. Wins races. Never says he loves me though.” She swayed closer, squinting at him. “You look trustworthy. Would you tell your wife you loved her? If you had one?”
“I...suppose?”
“Promise me.” She gripped his sleeve. “Promise you won’t be like my Aivan. So perfect. So cold. Makes me feel like I’m dying sometimes, wanting three little words he can’t say.”
The man gently extracted himself, looking alarmed. She didn’t notice, already moving to the next target. A businessman in an expensive suit.
“Hello. Quick survey. Do you believe in keeping marriage promises?”
By the time she’d approached her fifth man—asking increasingly personal questions about fidelity and whether he knew how to say “I love you”—the predator from earlier had started following her.
“Let me help you find him upstairs,” he said, his hand sliding around her waist.
He was pulling her toward the elevators, and her legs weren’t working right. The floor kept tilting, the lights kept spinning, and where was Aivan? Why wasn’t he here? Did the blonde reporter take him somewhere?
“Get your fucking hands off my wife.”
Aivan’s voice cut through the fog like ice water, each word sharp enough to draw blood.
RAGE.
Pure, molten rage poured through his veins as he took in the scene. Some bastardo with his hands on Sienah, trying to guide her toward the elevators. His wife, swaying on her feet, glassy-eyed and clearly drugged out of her mind. Her lipstick was smeared, a pink streak across her cheek like she’d tried to wipe her mouth and missed.
“I said,” his voice dropped to subzero, the same tone that made rival drivers move aside on the track, “get your hands off her.”
The man stepped back, hands raised. Up close, he reeked of knockoff cologne and bad decisions. “Hey, she was asking for company—”
Aivan’s fist clenched, knuckles going white. One hit. That’s all it would take to shatter this bastard’s jaw. His muscles coiled, ready to strike—
“Signore.” Eusebio’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Allow us.”
His men appeared like shadows, flanking the predator. The scent of leather holsters and barely leashed violence filled the space.
“Bodily remove this piece of shit. Throw him out. Make sure he understands never to come near her again.”
As they dragged him away, Aivan caught his wife as she swayed toward him. She weighed nothing, bird-bones and designer dress, but she hit his chest like a wrecking ball.
“There you are.” Her words slurred together, breath sweet with champagne and something chemical. “Done with your interview? Did she show you both of them? They were very...prominent.”
His jaw clenched harder. “Eusebio. Report.”
The older man’s face was grim. “She approached several men at the bar, signore. Asking about...fidelity. Looking for someone ‘better’ than her husband.”
Several men. The words echoed in his skull like gunshots. His vision hazed red at the edges. She’d been talking to other men, looking for—
“I need a new husband.” Sienah tried to pull away but nearly fell, her heel catching on nothing. “A faithful one. Do you know any? Someone who won’t leave me for secretaries with big boobs and stolen money?”
What the hell was she talking about? He scooped her into his arms, her head lolling against his chest. She smelled wrong—bar smoke and fear-sweat overlaying her usual vanilla perfume.
“Put me down! I need to find a better man!”
“Like hell.”
His arms tightened around her possessively. The thought of her talking to other men, advertising herself as available, asking strangers about fidelity while drugged and vulnerable. It made him want to go back and break every bone in that predator’s body. Made him want to find every man she’d talked to and make them understand she was taken. Claimed. His.