Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I grudgingly messaged Jen, who was happy to watch the store for the day. I knew she needed the money, but I hated asking so much of her when I couldn’t take her on full time. One day, I silently promised.
Radimir helped me sit up a little and brought me painkillers. Then he brewed me a cup of fragrant, clear tea. “Ginger,” he told me. “To settle your stomach.”
It worked. By lunchtime, I was less nauseous. Radimir banged around in the kitchen and I heard him chopping and frying. A strange smell filled the penthouse. Then he returned carrying a bowl, which looked absurdly small in his big hands. He perched on the edge of the bed, hulking over me.
“What is it?” I asked weakly. It was steaming and violently red.
“Borscht.”
“What is borscht?”
“Beetroot soup.” He spooned some of it up.
“You don’t have to feed me! I can—” I tried to grab the spoon but couldn’t focus on it, and my hands were shaky. “Fuck.”
Radimir lifted the spoon. “Open your mouth,” he ordered. Which shouldn’t have sounded as sexy as it did. I reluctantly opened and he started to feed me. The soup was actually really good, tasty but light enough not to upset my stomach, and I finished the whole bowl.
After lunch, Radimir tidied the kitchen and then prowled around like a big, sulky bear. There was nothing more he could do to heal me, and I was learning that he wasn’t a man who could sit on his hands. When I threw my book down and groaned, he was there in a second, eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head, which made it spin, and I groaned again and lay down. “I was going to read to take my mind off things, but I can’t focus on the words.”
Radimir stared at the book. Then he marched over and sat down on the bed. He grabbed the book and turned to the bookmark.
“What are you doing?” I asked cautiously.
He cleared his throat. “After the dazzling sunshine, the barn is dark, with only laser beam shafts of sunlight lancing down from the cracks between the planks. My eyes adjust and I glimpse him, plaid shirt half off, water droplets sliding down his bare chest as he—”
I sit up. “Stop!”
He stopped and looked at me over the top of the book.
“You can’t read that,” I mumbled.
“Why?”
“It’s romance.”
“That much was clear. Lie down.”
I lay back down, squirming a little. But he didn’t read it mockingly. He sounded a little bewildered, if anything, but he did his best. “—as he glugs from a water bottle. Then he sees me and lifts the brim of his Stetson. ‘I checked in on Shana just now. Don’t worry, she’s doing better.’” Radimir looked at me. “Shana is...her sister?”
“Her horse. She’s sick. The hero—he’s a cowboy called Kurt—is helping heal her. He’s in love with the heroine but he won’t make a move on her because she’s the widow of his best buddy.”
“Thank you,” said Radimir, and carried on. As the pages turned and he picked up the story, his tone started to relax and lose some of its stiffness. At times, it almost seemed like he was enjoying it. And once I got over my embarrassment, being read to was freakin’ wonderful, especially with his Russian accent caressing the words and leaving them silky smooth in places and deliciously rough in others. He read for hours, and I finally drifted off to sleep, soothed by the sound of his voice.
When I woke again, it was dark outside. At first, I thought I was alone but then I heard him breathing. I cracked one eye open and saw him sitting in a chair across the room just...watching me. He’d missed a whole day of work for me, he probably had a million things to catch up on, but he was just sitting there, hunched forward, chin resting on his fist.
His phone rang in the next room. He got up and I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
I heard him take a step towards the door...then he changed direction and came towards me. What is he doing? I tried to breathe slowly and steadily.
I could feel him standing over me. He pushed my hair back from my face, staring at me from just a few inches away…
His lips brushed my forehead in a tender kiss. “Popravlyaysya, Krasavitsa,” he whispered. Get well, Beauty. Then he walked off to answer his phone.
I stayed still and silent, but inside, the warmth of his kiss was spreading through my shocked body. He really did care...and that scared me. I had to burn it into my brain that he was a monster because if I didn’t, I was going to do something stupid.
Like fall for him.
32
BRONWYN
With every day we spent together, the sexual tension wound tighter, until it became a straining guitar string, sending out vibrations that made everything sexual.