PURPLE HEART - Soliders Of Fortune [BOOK TWO]

Chapter THIRTY THREE

Maksimillian ‘Max’ Angeloff

…A few days later…

The implications of several sleepless nights wear on me.. From the blackened circles beneath my eyes to the sluggishness in my step, it has become increasingly difficult to drag myself away from the object of my obsession and through my daily duties..

How am I supposed to sleep when I know there is a gorgeous woman in the next room, doing salacious things to herself while thinking about me?
How am I supposed to leave the apartment each morning when she is sitting in my kitchen, dressed in her tiny silk pyjamas and drinking her coffee with entirely too much cream and sugar?
How am I supposed to follow through with my master plan to bring down Sasha and his outlaw empire once and for all, when all I really want to do is to forget about everything but her?

Sunday has taken over every corner of my mind to live rent free in the space my vendetta once occupied, and every day I lose a little more ground in our battle of wills.

She is open to explore the unspoken connection between us, foster it and feed its potential.. While my own heart remains closed and jaded.
She wants to see if there is a possibility I will change, that I am not a lost cause.. But I am certain she would not care for all she'd uncover if she were to continue scratching at my surface..
She wants to believe there is a decent man deep down in me, one that only she can save.. Hell, once upon a time that might have been possible, before the scars, before the suffering and the war.. Before death wound it’s cruel, spindled fingers around my future and snuffed out any glimmer of light..
She wants a family and a life she can call her own.. Though my own upbringing would suggest I am less than equipped for the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood..

She is desperately seeking the one thing she has been deprived of her entire existence.. The very same thing I’d long forgotten the embrace of:

Love…

Hell, she deserves nothing less..

Meanwhile, It's taken everything in me to resist her affection and rebuff her advances, as if she weren't an angel of temptation itself..

Sunday is devastating sweetness, wrapped in silken caramel skin, crowned in chocolate curls with those golden whiskey eyes, dangerous enough to get me drunk any time she glances my direction..

But my fascination with Sunny extendeds beyond her beauty; She is temperate and forgiving, where I am cold and pitiless.
She is analytical and intelligent, where I am brute force and impulse..
She is courageous and so much stronger than she knows, where I am bitter cowardice and shards of spite..

Still, for a spark starved of oxygen for so long as she's endured, Sunday wants for so little and burns with empathy and affection for even less.. All she seeks is to be cared for, to feel secure, to know somebody is there to catch her when she stumbles..