Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
No isn’t in our vocabulary.
7
VALENTINA
Since my cell’s battery died halfway into my trip, I sit by the window with knees drawn up and my forehead an inch from the rain-dotted pane. The last train to Carlisle speeds through the rain-soaked countryside, slicing through the air like a bullet. The swift, reckless motion turns the passing scenery into a blur of lights and streaked glass.
The pace is exhilarating, but it also slumps my shoulders.
Chasing this train by car would be futile. Not even the most determined driver could achieve such speed. So even though I’m picturing the stranger behind the wheel of his SUV with his jaw set and his eyes burning with that daring glint that makes my heart race, the scenario I’ve tried to ignore the past hour isn’t likely to occur.
He’ll never beat me to Carlisle… though I do hope he gives it his all.
My inner monologue makes me annoyed and hopeful all in the space of a single breath.
I don’t want him to chase me, but a sensation miles above fear trickles through my veins when I replay the scene in Palermo. It’s the same needy pulse that thrummed through my lower stomach when his eyes locked on mine through the train’s glass doors as they slid shut.
The wildness in his eyes makes me wonder what would have happened if he’d caught me. Would he have kissed me? And would I have let him?
The uncertainty has me flustered and—God help me—playful. Those are two responses I didn’t anticipate today. I should be exhausted and wrung out, but instead, I feel alive and electric, as if the world is suddenly brimming with possibilities.
Closing my eyes, I try to convince my brain to let the rhythm of the train lull me toward peace. Before I can get even ten seconds of rest, images of the stranger’s face and smile jolt me awake. I think about the trail of fire his touch scorched on my skin when he sheltered me from danger, and how his low and commanding timbre still sent a shiver down my spine even when he treated me like a member of his staff. And then I recall the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing in the world worth seeing.
As the train slows and the lights of Carlisle appear, my thoughts return to the present. A peculiar sensation settles over me as I gather my belongings and make my way to the doors. Carlisle is safer than Los Angeles, but you still won’t find me loitering near a station at this time of night.
The weird sensation grows when the train glides to a stop. The car is nearly empty, so fellow commuters aren’t to blame for my body’s odd responses. My emotions feel swept up in the chaotic storm the stranger’s attention whirled around me when he commenced chasing me.
Just as I’m about to step onto the platform, the rain starts up again. It splatters the dry concrete with big fat droplets that will drench me in under a minute.
After pulling up the collar of my shirt and saying a silent prayer not to get sick, I venture into the downpour. Shockingly, my clothes remain bone dry. Not a drop of water lands on me or my clothes.
I understand why when I look up. As a bodyguard would shield a princess, the stranger I left in the dust in Palermo holds an umbrella above my head, uncaring that the downpour is ruining his pricey suit and hundred-dollar haircut.
For a moment, I just stare at him, stunned.
How did he beat me here? It’s not possible. The train is the fastest thing on this island. It operates at a top speed of 190 miles per hour. No car could have made it in time.
Yet here he is, standing so close that his expensive cologne adds to the pulse between my legs.
A mix of excitement, disbelief, and fear rains over me. Are his interests so potent that he chased me all the way from Palermo? That isn’t something a sane individual would do, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t excite me.
If only I could erase the memory of where I found him as easily as his interest captivates me.
He was at a clinic commonly visited by couples, which prompts many questions. Is Valeria his girlfriend? His wife? Or worse, is she about to be the mother of his children?
The questions burn in the back of my throat, but before they’re voiced, the dark-haired stranger guides me across the platform. With one hand on the small of my back and the other commanding the umbrella, he moves with such animalistic grace that several passengers pause to admire him.
My pulse spikes as I debate whether I should fight or follow. His basic touch makes what should be a simple deliberation seem impossible. I’m not even sure which way is up. All I know is that the further the train slips behind us, the more the questions I need to ask disappear with it.