Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“O-oh. Yeah. Okay.” I try to smile, but everything feels so numb and floaty. I’m not sure if my lips are moving. “It’s… it’s Talia. You d-don’t have to call me Miss Grey.”
“Got it, Talia.” God, the way his sultry voice rolls over my name does something crazy, warming me from head to toe and chasing away the chill of trauma. “You couldn’t answer me before, but did you hit your head?”
“No. I’m… I’m used to falling. It’s almost instinct to tuck up so my body takes the brunt of it.”
“You’ve probably got some bruises, maybe knocked a few bones around, but no concussion. That’s good.”
Pale eyes flick over me quickly, taking me in from head to toe.
There’s this careful coolness in his voice, completely at odds with the kindness in the way he handles me. Almost like his voice and those gunmetal-blue eyes are a mask, and his touch tells the truth—and maybe it’s that neediness after having a bad attack, but I don’t want him to let me go.
Not yet.
“So this is a regular thing for you, Talia?” he asks.
I shake my head, wincing as it pulls at my sore shoulders a bit.
“Not anymore. I mean, I used to have bad attacks as a kid, but it doesn’t happen much these days.”
“I see.” A discerning look lingers on me. “Let’s get you on your feet. We’ll see how steady you are and if I’ll be driving you to the medical center or waiting for the ambulance.”
“No!”
I go stiff with fresh panic. I can’t.
I spent half my childhood in that medical center.
I know those depressing institutional walls by heart. A cold, sterile ghost of loneliness.
As if I wasn’t already totally humiliated, I see half the town gathered around us in a distant circle, watching me batting my eyes in Officer Ainsley’s arms.
Ugh.
I can’t stand going back there.
But Officer Ainsley just stares with this cool, intense question in his eyes.
My face heats. I lower my eyes to the point where his long, pale hand curls against my elbow to support me.
Holy hell.
I’ve never seen anyone with skin paler than mine. I can see the veins snaking along the backs of his hands and through his fingers, huge and powerful, making him seem even more like some strange beast of the night.
The only color is in his fingertips and his knuckles—thick, coarse, red. His hands seem too big and sharp for such an elegant man.
“Talia?” he whispers.
“S-sorry,” I stutter. Speech comes easier now as my throat slowly relaxes. “It’s just… the prednisone’s working. I’m fine. I’m used to this, but I don’t want to waste anyone’s time at the medical center. I just need a few minutes. I need some water.”
I’m expecting him to tell me I have to go to the medical center anyway. For him to completely dismiss me and override my wishes.
It’s the same thing the doctors always did, and just about anyone else besides Grandpa, always treating me like this glass doll that has to be locked away in a protective case and never allowed to live.
But after a few long seconds, Officer Ainsley nods.
“Compromise,” he growls. “If you can get up and walk to Red Grounds with me, we’ll sit down, talk, and have something to drink. If you’re still feeling okay after that, I’ll let you go. If not, I’ll give you a ride to the medical center. Fair?”
Too fair, maybe.
I stare at him.
I know he’s just looking after me, being responsible, but—
No. That’s the wooziness talking.
That, and the fact that he’s so captivating that I can’t stop looking at him.
He raises both brows. “You’re starting to worry me, Miss Grey. Are you processing?”
“Processing?” I squeak.
“Are my words getting through?”
“Yes! Loud and clear. And um, I told you before, it’s Talia. None of that Miss Grey business.” I’m about to blush myself into passing out again. “Sorry, I’m just—”
“You’re asking if you should trust me,” he offers.
I freeze.
Holy shit, how?
This is the first time we’ve ever really spoken.
And in a matter of minutes, he sees right through me.
I look away sharply with a weird flutter in my heart.
“It’s not you, I promise. It’s habit. But if you can help me up and get me away from this crowd, you’ve got a deal,” I say.
He doesn’t reply.
A second later, his strong arms flex around me before he gently sets me down, maneuvering his thighs from under me so he can stand without ever fully letting me go.
Instead, his hand slides down my arm until he catches my hand. His fingers may be raw—almost brutal—but they’re still graceful and warm as they catch mine.
My heart skips again as I see him standing over me at full height, rakish and framed in morning light. A fallen angel.
Dear God.
I’ve got to stop doing that, letting myself get so swept up in looking at him.