ELENA DUVAL
Heartbeats were fickle things. Beating one moment and then stopping the next. Pounding with fears and insecurities and then lying as still and peaceful as a tranquil sea. They glowed and warmed and expanded in my chest. They had begun to hope and yearn for someone.
My heartbeats had always had a fondness for the romantic but for the danger too. And I knew just that as I watched Dimitri speaking over the phone in his hearten language. I could only make out a few sentences he'd been speaking in Italian and that was thanks to Greta and Italians for dummies.
My heart swelled with contentment turned slightly from where he was seated at the edge of the bed. The heat of his gaze slid down every inch of my naked body barely covered by the sheets.
I glanced at the clock and it was
