Page 58 of Snaring Emberly
Roman cups the base of my skull and kisses my forehead as if I’m precious.
Or maybe he’s savoring the moment because in a few days, I’ll be gone?
TWENTY-ONE
ROMAN
Whenever I used to run track around prison, I would close my eyes and picture trees blurring as I rushed past with the snap and crack of twigs underfoot.
For thirty sweet minutes, I would imagine that I was free, but it turns out that nothing beats being at home.
Home is full of sounds and smells and sensations I can’t replicate. Birds chirp, leaves rustles, and the first vestiges of sunlight filter in through the trees. The air is thinner at the top of Alderney Hill than it is downstate. It’s like being in my own fucking Disney movie.
Something else I failed to factor in were the constant interruptions. Even at the crack of dawn, a man can’t get any peace. I’ve already had to tell two assholes not to disturb my run and now I’m headed to the pool house to see the biggest pain in my ass.
I can’t let Emberly finish that portrait because Leroi still needs to track down Samson Capello. It doesn’t matter that Emberly is Capello’s daughter when his eldest son exists and can take control of the estate. My entire plan to get back my assets will collapse if her half-brother is alive, so it’s up to me to keep Emberly under control while we manage this little setback.
My cock aches at the thought of her tight, wet pussy gripping my fingers as she submitted to my dominance. The scratches on my cheek sting. A reminder of her pathetic show of resistance. I snort. There’s only one way to tame that little wildcat, and that’s on her hands and knees. But who’s got time to fuck her into obedience?
As I pass the rose garden, the phone tucked in my waistband buzzes. I answer without looking.
“What?”
“Blood test results came back,” says the gravelly voice of Nick Terranova, the lawyer helping us claw back Emberly’s inheritance. “There’s a 99.999% chance of the girl being Frederic Capello’s kid.”
“You hear that from the Di Marco Group?”
“No, I took a separate test using DNA from my contact at the funeral home.”
I chuckle. “Nice.”
“It’s only a matter of time before they send over the paperwork that gives her full ownership of all her father’s assets.”
I grunt.
“Your rightful assets,” he adds.
Terranova’s poor phrasing isn’t what’s making me pissed. The reminder that Samson Capello is still an obstacle that needs to die before we can get the law firm to transfer everything to Emberly has me mad as hell.
“Keep me updated,” I mutter before ending the call.
I jog along the edge of the pool and make two soft raps on the French door, hoping she’ll still be asleep.
“Come in,” she yells from inside.
My jaw tightens. Of course, she’s awake. The alcohol trick only worked on her once.
I step inside to find her hidden behind an easel concealing all but her bare feet and legs. She steps out from the canvas, wearing a full-body apron that conceals her curves and exposes the peaks of her slender shoulders.
My breath hitches at the sight of her untamed beauty and her curls disheveled from sleep. They coil in all directions like a nest of snakes, framing her pert nose, swollen lips and sleepy, jade eyes.
Her gaze roves over my body, and I can tell by the way her eyes darken that she’s not thinking about painting. I pull back my shoulders and preen, knowing she likes what she sees.
“You naked under that?” I ask.
A flush spreads across her cheeks, runs down her neck, and disappears into the apron. My brows rise, and I wonder if it’s reached her breasts.
“I can’t get those designer clothes you bought me splattered with paint. It will never come out.”