Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“Is that right?”
He nodded. “It’s a gift.”
A chuckle burst from my lips, and I covered my mouth. He was quick to lean over and pull my hand away.
“No, sweetheart. Laugh. I like hearing it. I want you to laugh more.”
“Okay, Casanova.”
He grinned but was silent as I ate my donut.
“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked.
“For you, nothing. I have some meetings, and I’ll work up here as much as I can. If I leave, I’m downstairs—not far.” He slid a radio my way. “Use this, and I’ll be up here in seconds.”
“I could help?”
His eyes were intense as he lifted his mug and drained it. “No. You will concentrate on recovering.”
“But—”
“I said no.” His tone brooked no argument.
I hated to admit it, but he was right. The next two days, I slept and ate, then slept again. On the sofa, in the bed, even at the table when I tried to make one of my lists. I liked lists—they helped me sort out my thoughts and organize my mind. I made a list of everything I could remember about the night I was taken. About the voices I heard, the snippets of conversation. I felt myself getting tired, and I rested my head on my arm for a moment.
I woke up when Marcus scooped me into his arms and carried me down the hall, muttering about stubborn women.
He slept beside me at night—the talisman that kept the nightmares at bay. He would pull me back to his chest, his arms around me, his scent in my head as I would drift off. During the day, he was never far, and his eyes were often the first thing I saw when I woke up, watching and evaluating me as I stirred. As long as he was close, I was calm. At least, my mind was calm.
My body was a different story.
The air between us crackled with an energy I had never experienced before. I was aware of him everywhere he went. I felt his presence even in my sleep. When he was close, when he had left the room. His scent saturated his bedroom and the bathroom. It was comforting and sensual at the same time. I loved watching him work, his intensity and concentration sexy. He commanded attention without trying. He was focused and driven. I could hear the respect his men had for him and the way he returned it.
And his patience with me was astounding. Somehow he knew whenever I needed something—most of the time before I was even aware of it myself. A drink. A snack. When I needed to sleep. The rare moments I wanted to talk. He never pressed for information but listened when I spoke.
He was concerned about my life.
“Are you sure you have no family we should contact?” he asked. “Friends? Anyone?”
“My parents split when I was young. I haven’t seen either of them since.” I informed him. “I don’t even know if they are alive. My grandmother raised me.”
“And?”
“She passed years ago.”
“Friends?”
I laughed. “You know how people say growing up in a small town is awesome? Everyone knows you and everyone helps? Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit. In my case anyway.”
His eyebrows flew up at my language.
“I came from a broken home, lived with my gran on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. I was made fun of at school, looked down on by my teachers and kids alike. We were poor, and I never had a new dress or shoes. Everything came from the thrift store. There was a group of kids that liked to announce to everyone else what discarded pieces of their clothing I was now wearing. I was short and thin—easy to pick on.” I shook my head at the memories. “Growing up wasn’t fun.”
“What happened?”
“Not surprisingly, I was shy. Not many friends. I studied a lot—spent a lot of time at the library. Got good grades. I wanted to make a difference. I got a scholarship to a university, and I left that small town.” I sighed as a wave of sadness hit me. “My gran died the year I left for school. I went and got the few things she had and walked away. Never went back. I studied and worked. Decided I wanted to be in law enforcement.” I swallowed down the emotion that was threatening. “I finished and got a job as an intake person at the police station three towns over from where I grew up—our station even served that town. I didn’t plan it, but it happened.”
“Did people recognize you?”
“No. When I left, I was barely seventeen. I graduated early. I returned when I was twenty-two. I had changed, and no one recognized my name. I had been invisible growing up, and so they never even noticed.” I barked out a laugh. “They still didn’t.”