Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I stand just inside the room for a long moment, watching her. She's beautiful in an ethereal sort of way. Not even the harsh fluorescent lighting mars the softness of her tawny skin or the gentle waves in her hair. Her face is slightly rounded with youth despite how thin she is, her lips full and lush. The scrubs they've given her to replace her blood-soaked clothes are pure white. Even though she's dangerously sick, she's stunning…an angel awash in a sea of white.
My body reacts to her like it's seeing porn for the first time, my dick going rock hard again. I mutter a curse beneath my breath, quickly running through a mental list of baseball statistics and silently willing it to stand down.
It doesn't matter how beautiful she is or how brave, I don't fuck around when it involves my job. I don't fuck around with girls half my age. And I definitely don't fuck around with women who need my protection.
But Christ…she's tempting.
How long has it been since I was with anyone?
Five years? Longer?
I can't even remember. I realized early in my career that I don't have time for entanglements or distractions. Women don't want to come second to a job, and my job always came first. I never met anyone who made me want to change that, not when finding out what happened to my sister has always been my priority.
But part of me is seriously reconsidering celibacy right now…the same part that wants to slip into that tiny bed with Faith and slip my hand between her legs, show her how good she should feel.
"Fuck," I growl, trying to rein in the thought. It can't fucking happen. No matter what I want, sleeping with her is off the table. It was off the table the minute Rich told me what happened to her.
Fuck Nikolai Tarasova.
Faith jumps slightly, giving away her act. The corner of my upper lip twitches as she clings to her pretense, stubbornly refusing to open her eyes or say anything. Instead, she keeps breathing in the unsteady rhythm of one badly faking sleep.
"I know you're awake, angel," I murmur, fighting the urge to chuckle.
Her breathing pauses for a second and then her long, sooty lashes flutter. Those wide eyes flash open, landing on me. They're bottomless pools of warm honey, shaking me all the way to my core. She's so young, so innocent, but the keen intelligence and enervated acceptance lurking in her gaze make it clear she's wise beyond her years. A healthy dose of ire and a whisper of fear swim in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes too.
I push away from the wall, taking a careful step in her direction.
She pushes herself upright in the bed, grimacing as she uses her bandaged hands to steady herself. The IV in her arm pulls taut where it's gotten wrapped around her upper arm. Before I can lean forward to help her untangle it, she tugs the line free, steadying herself on an elbow. A pained grimace crosses her face, gone as quickly as it appeared as she sits up, wrapping the sheet around her. She eyes me, her expression carefully blank.
She's a frightened little rabbit, trying like hell to put on a brave face. There are cracks in her armor though, chinks large enough to drive a tank through. The sight sends an unfamiliar desire twisting through me for the second time this morning. The urge to wrap her up in my arms and promise her everything will be okay waves through me. I quell the urge, ruthlessly tamping it down.
It's not fucking happening, Hernandez.
Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I'll actually hear it.
"I'm Detective Hernandez." I ease myself down onto the stool across from her bed, being careful to leave distance between us. I don't want to crowd her or back her into a corner. She'll never trust me if she's afraid of me.
I'm…surprised at how fucking badly I want her trust. Not because I need it. Not because I want her help. But because I want her to know she's safe with me. More than anything, I think she needs that right now—someone she feels safe with.
I'm not sure it's something she's ever had. And I'm probably the last motherfucker she'd feel safe with right now if she knew the things I've been thinking…but I'm not a threat to her. I won't hurt her or take what she doesn't want to give. I'm not that kind of an asshole.
The tip of her pink tongue peeks from between her full lips. "I know who you are," she whispers, keeping her eyes glued to my face. Her voice washes over me like an aria. Even though it shakes slightly, it's melodic, almost musical. I thought the same thing when she spoke to me outside the bar. "I remember you."