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)
When he stops mere feet from the SUV he was leaning against in Palermo, I finally find my backbone. “What are you doing here?”
“Driving you home,” he answers nonchalantly, his tone both authoritative and kind.
I attempt to assure him that I’m fine, but the truth is, I’m not. The rain is coming down harder now, and my phone is well and truly dead. If I don’t accept his offer, I could be stuck at the station for hours.
The knowledge has absolutely no effect on my hesitation. I’m torn between caution and curiosity.
He must notice my hesitation. His slow, knowing grin weakens my knees. “Come on, Valentina. I’m offering to drive you home. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I almost insist that I can manage on my own, but something about him makes me throw caution to the wind. For all I know, he could just want to make sure I get home safely.
Furthermore, the last text I got from my aunt was that my mother had gone to bed, so the only time I’m stealing tonight is from my sleep.
“All right.” I try to sound casual. I shouldn’t have bothered. My voice is drenched in ambiguity. “But only because my phone’s dead and I don’t fancy walking home in this weather.”
With a triumphant grin, as if he sees straight through my lie, he takes my bag from me and places it in the back seat of the SUV. When he holds out his hand palm side up, I cock a brow and stare at him in suspicion.
“You said your battery is dead. I can charge it for you during the commute.”
“Oh…” I give him my phone without thinking, but instead of plugging it into the charging port in his SUV, he slips it into his pocket, then opens the passenger-side door for me.
I swallow the frustration and fear tangling in my throat, then climb in. I tell myself that it’s okay to be led when you don’t have a choice. The platform is empty, and the parking lot is just as desolate. The only noise is the thud of my pulse and the whispers of the questions I’ve yet to ask.
“Before anything else,” he says after jogging around his vehicle and sliding behind the wheel. “Have you eaten tonight?”
The memory of where I spotted him today has a lie sitting on the tip of my tongue, but my stomach betrays me with a loud, insistent grumble.
The stranger’s deep, rich chuckle makes my lips involuntarily twitch. He has a beautiful laugh. It’s as appealing as his panty-wetting face. “I’ll take that as a no.”
My breath hitches when his knuckles brush my chest. He’s not making an unwanted advance. He’s reaching for my belt.
“There.” He fastens the buckle with a quiet click before his thumb traces the stitched line in my belt. “Now there’s less chance of you outrunning me again.”
I resist the urge to tap a loose fist against my chest and murmur, “Thank you.”
Maybe the sedation hasn’t worn off and I’m dreaming? This can’t be real. Surely. Men like him never notice women like me. He’s so attractive that people’s heads turn without meaning to. His face belongs in glossy magazines or behind the velvet ropes of movie premieres, not close enough to me that the weight of his attentive stare becomes a second layer of skin.
He arches a brow and smirks when he notices me staring. “See something you like?”
Though I’ve been caught out, I don’t look away. I could miss my only chance to showcase my flirtatiousness if I give up now. “Maybe.”
I more than like what I see, but there’s no chance of telling him that while still unaware of his relationship status.
He grabs at his chest, feigning injury. “Maybe? Ouch.”
When I playfully stick out my tongue at him, he laughs again, and the tingling in between my legs intensifies.
The further we travel, the more my nerves settle. The SUV’s heated interior dries my wet shoes, and the steady whirr of the engine gives me the perfect excuse for the buzz thickening my veins.
A short while later, we arrive at a family-owned eatery hidden on a side street. Steam has fogged the windows, and the scent wafting outside smells of fresh garlic and homemade pasta.
After parking the SUV, the stranger approaches my door, opens it, then helps me out. A jolt of electricity races up my arm with the slightest touch, yet I pretend not to notice.
Inside, the restaurant is cozy and bustling, and locals crowd its tables. The still-unnamed man greets the owner by name before exchanging a few words with him. I overhear portions of their conversation but nothing that identifies the handsome stranger. It’s the small talk you have with someone you know but wouldn’t classify as a close acquaintance.
After the owner notes the extended period since the stranger’s last visit and inquires about his father, a deep groove mars his forehead as he replies that his father is well. Since his curt reply ends their conversation, we’re shown to a corner booth tucked away from the noise and the glare of the overhead lights.