44. Basilio
Basilio
W ynter’s body slumped in my arms.
Giving a terse nod to Dante, I lifted her small body and we left the room. I couldn’t help glancing at her face. It was a bit thinner, dark circles under her eyes.
“There will be hell to pay,” Dante muttered as we headed for the exit staircase. Running into someone at this hour was unlikely, but we couldn’t risk it. It would leave a trail of dead bodies in its wake.
I kept checking on her pulse as we descended the staircase. Now that I had her, I was fucking scared to lose her again. I had no plans of letting that happen. Her hair hung loose, so fucking long and those bouncy curls that usually gave her a mischievous look now made her seem even thinner.
The moment we exited the hotel, Emory spotted us and started the engine.
“You sit in the front,” I told Dante and he cocked his eyebrow, smirking knowingly.
He didn’t know shit. I wouldn’t let another man hold Wynter.
She was mine now, and I’d be the only man touching her.
Once in the car, my gaze lowered to watch her face.
She looked like a fucking angel with that gold halo of curls around her head and pale skin.
I trailed my eyes over the soft swell of her breast. Her breathing was shallow, and I pressed my finger to her pulse again.
“Don’t fucking tell me you gave her too much sedative and killed her,” Emory hissed, checking the rearview mirror.
“She’s breathing,” I said, never lifting my eyes from Wynter. “Focus on your goddamn driving and getting us out of here.”
Wynter wore a slim tank top and boyshorts. Pink again. Some things never change, I guess. A light shiver rolled down her body and I cursed myself. I should have grabbed a blanket; it was the middle of the fucking winter with below zero temperature in the mountains.
I was too fucking focused on the fact I finally had her. Why couldn’t they have the Winter Olympics in the tropics?
Sliding my jacket off, I covered her body.
She stirred slightly and a soft moan sounded on her lips. And fuck if it didn’t give me a goddamn hard on. Yes, I was a sick bastard. But nine months without a woman would do that to you. Turn you into a cranky, ready to blow-a-gasket, horny kind of jackass.
It took us ten minutes to get to the helicopter, and another thirty to the jet waiting for us. Wynter never stirred again.
Like a thief in the night, I had stolen my bride.