Hate Like Honey (Corsican Crime Lord #2) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Corsican Crime Lord Series by Charmaine Pauls
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
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When the day finally dawns, I get up early and go for a long jog on the beach followed by a strenuous swim far out to sea. The exercise leaves me exhausted, which is exactly what I aimed for. If I’m too tired to think, the thoughts surrounding my birthday can’t harass me.

I climb up the path to the villa, pressing a hand over the stitch in my side while catching my breath. It’s a glorious day with not a cloud in the sky. The sun hangs big and yellow overhead, warming my wet skin.

After a rinse-down in the outdoor shower, I relax in the Jacuzzi while sipping coconut water to replenish my energy. I’m a healthy eater, but today I need comfort food. I have peanut butter and banana toast with pancakes and cream, enjoying my meal on the veranda. I even indulge in a brunch cocktail of champagne and orange juice. The air is clean, smelling like salt and sea. The lap of the waves on the shore is the best music. If not for my nerves, this would’ve been the perfect birthday.

When the temperature gets too hot, I go inside and switch on the AC. To help me relax, I opt for a bath instead of a shower and add my favorite lavender bath salt. While the tub is filling, I double-check the wall panel to ensure the security gate and the doors are locked and that the alarm is on. I’m always vigilant and on the lookout for people following me or hanging around the villa. Although I never notice anyone, I always get a creepy feeling that someone is watching me. To be on the safe side, I lower the window shutters before I strip and get into the bath.

The warm water soothes my muscles, and the lavender helps to relieve the ache after the physical exertion. The tub is built into a corner of the bathroom on the lower level of the house where the shrubs on the side of the rocky garden provide privacy. Without any neighbors in front of me, I can enjoy the view of the waves crashing on the beach from the large window that walls in one side of the tub, but I feel safer with the shutter down. It’s dark inside with the sun blocked out. I feel as if I’m tucked into a cocoon where no one and nothing can reach me.

I wash my hair and rinse the shampoo and conditioner with clean water, using the hand-held nozzle. Before the water has cooled completely, I pull the plug and take a towel from the hook on the wall. I step onto the bath rug and wrap the towel around me, and then I take a smaller towel to twist around my hair. Stripes of light fall through the grooves in the metal shutter onto the floor and fan over the mirror. I flip on the light switch and brush my teeth.

Despite the sinister significance of the date, I’m floating in a comfortable space after the endorphins of the exercise and the relaxing effect of the bath. As long as I stay inside, I feel safe. I make a mental note to thank Ryan for that. He went out of his way to find a place with every possible security precaution, and I’ve never been more grateful than today.

Since I have nothing planned and I’m not in a mindset to study, I’ll make popcorn and binge-watch television. I haven’t had time to do that in ages. It will be my birthday treat.

The idea perks me up as I saunter into the bedroom, heading for the closet. As soon as I enter the somber darkness, the hair stands up in my nape. A shiver crawls through me, contracting my skin.

I’m not alone.

I know it in an instant.

My heart starts pounding, every thud reverberating in my ears. My palms turn clammy where I grip the edges of the towel between my breasts. I look for a weapon even as I scan the dark corners of the room. And then I jerk to a standstill.

A man sits in the armchair in front of the sliding doors. With the shutters in front of the doors down, I can’t make out more than the black outline of his shape, but I already know who broke into my house. I know from the tension emanating from his relaxed pose and the bulkiness of his frame. I know from the smell of citrus and cedar that hangs faintly in the air.

I stop breathing. I stop looking for a weapon and focus on escaping, because I can’t beat the man who sits in my chair in strength.

His deep, disturbing voice washes over my senses. “Hallo, Sabella.”

His accent is fainter than I remember. Or maybe he got more practice in speaking English.


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