Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 217(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“Love it. Shocked you do.”
“Why?” I laugh.
“Windwalking requires a lot of calories. Henry’s does the job. And you’re a little thing.”
I laugh. “Watch me eat, is all I can say.”
“I will,” he assures me, and then he starts the engine, and it roars to life a moment before he backs us up and starts driving.
He doesn’t ask where I live but drives right to it, which doesn’t freak me out. I’m the General’s daughter. Everyone would have talked about me moving in, and I took over my predecessor’s place.
Creed parks in my driveway and kills the engine. “I’ll come around and get you,” he says, as would any perfect military gentleman.
I cradle my files and just that fast, he’s already there, opening my door, no doubt windwalking to get there. It’s as if he has to do it, as if the wind is a part of who he is—what he is.
He offers me his hand, and I have this instant certainty that the minute I touch this man, I will be changed forever. It’s not about that mark on the neck I heard about today, either. It’s just this strong, soul-deep feeling. He will change me and do so in ways I can’t possibly know right now. And yet, I reach out and press my palm to his palm, and I swear a tingling sensation slides up my arms, across my chest.
He eases me to my feet and catches my files just as they’re about to tumble to the ground, and we are so close, the heat of his body scorches me far more than the Nevada heat. “Thank you,” I say, scooping the files into my arms. “I keep trying to drop these.” And for a moment, we’re just staring at each other, and there is this intense pull between us that has me a little breathless as I add, “Groom Lake’s version of secure is to keep everything in paperwork and nothing in an electronic database.”
“Nothing to do with the GTECHs, you mean,” he says, his hand no longer touching mine and it’s not a question.
“Yes. I’m learning that. I want you to know that I’ve been in Houston working at NASA. I didn’t know.”
He just stares down at me with hooded eyes and says, “What do you want to eat?”
The rapid change of topic has a whiplash effect, and I fear that his motives tonight might be about my father, but that would mean I’m the only one that feels whatever this is between us. And even if that is, I can deal with it. I want to earn his trust. Which is a good reason to roll with the punches. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting Henry’s again. It’s hard to decide. Okay, so—I guess—a double cheeseburger and onion rings. No, French fries. Okay, no.” I hold up my hand. “Cheese tater tots—they’re so good—and a chocolate shake.”
He arches a brow. “That’s a lot of food.”
“It’s been a long time. Houston doesn’t have anything close to as good. Can you help me eat it if it’s too much?”
There is what I think might be a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth but I’m not certain. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him smile. “I’d say I’ll have to,” he replies. “I’ll be back.”
“How soon?” I ask.
“Just as long as it takes them to make the food.”
And then he’s gone. He disappears and there is not even a hint of wind. The crazy thing is, I can still feel his touch.
Chapter Five
As long as it takes for them to make the food.
I can only assume that means Creed can travel from here to Vegas in seconds, and while that blows my mind, right now, I’m just thinking about him returning and how nervous I am about him here, in my house. It’s tiny. He’s not, in body or presence. And I feel like I’m breaking rules having dinner with him, even if that’s not really true. It’s not like I’m his therapist or even his doctor, but I’m still here in a professional capacity, and I can’t claim this dinner is professional. There’s chemistry between us. So much insane chemistry, like I’ve never experienced in my life.
And I’m still standing outside, staring at the spot where he was just standing.
Hurrying to the door, I fumble with my keys, and enter the tiny living room, rushing to the bar, which is also my equivalent of a kitchen table, where I set down my files. Next, I head to the bedroom and kick off my high heels. I feel this deep need to be a normal woman right now, not someone in Army greens who looks like a scientist studying Creed, when I’m sort of both.
With this uncomfortable reality in mind, I quickly yank leggings and a tee out of my closet, and change. I finish the look with sneakers, and then check myself in the mirror. I tug my hair free from the binding, blonde hair falling around my shoulders. I look younger than my skillset. This is good. I look so far from a scientist right now, I can almost convince myself I’m nothing of the sort.