Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
He took two long strides, moving me back as he forced his way inside, pushing the door closed behind him. His eyes scanned my face as if he was searching for answers to something.
“What happened?” he asked gruffly.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Or I might cry again.
Oz grabbed my chin and tilted my head back, making me look at him when I had tried to duck my head. “Tell me.” The demand came out as just that, but as if he was trying to soften his voice and failing.
There was something in his eyes that had me wanting to tell him. A concern, along with a protectiveness that felt so unfamiliar to me, but I found my chest ached for it. I wanted someone else to care or want to listen. Not just someone. Marley would listen, and I knew she cared. I wanted this man to care. Wow. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that to myself. Was it all the fantasy sex I’d had with him? The sloth? The way he had almost flirted in the parking lot on Sunday?
“Darlin’, I’m about to go to that school you work at and demand answers. Folks might not walk out of their unharmed. Now, I need you to start talking.”
He looked serious, and I…believed him. He would do it. In case I did decide I wanted to keep my job, I didn’t need that.
“I was accused of being pregnant. It’s a Christian school, and an unwed pregnant woman violates their rules and morals,” I blurted.
His brows drew together. “But you’re not pregnant.”
“I know,” I replied.
Although why was he so sure? Did he find it hard to believe a man would sleep with me? Because the hard-on I’d felt the last time we were this close told me he would have no problem with it.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb in a slow caress on my chin. “Then, what is the problem?” he asked, his voice a deep, smooth rumble now.
Talk about a distraction. Lordy, he should charge for this gift. Women around the world would hand over their bank accounts.
“The problem is…” I said, licking my lips.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I tried real hard not to react to that.
Focus. You have a problem. What is it? Oh, right.
“Whoever told the principal that I was pregnant, he, the president of the board, and a female board member all believe this person, even without proof.”
His eyes were back on mine now, and his thumb still rubbed against my skin gently. “And?” he urged.
I shrugged. “And the lie spread through the faculty and staff. Parents will hear the gossip. They’ll be appalled and want me and my loose morals away from their children, et cetera.”
His thumb stopped, and his eyes narrowed again. “Are you saying they fired you? Over a fucking lie?”
“Not yet,” I replied. “My word isn’t good enough. They need proof. I offered to take a pregnancy test today at school while they waited, but that wasn’t okay. Because I could have had an abortion, and guess what. That’s another moral-code breaker in the church.”
The gray of his eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched tightly. He was angry. This made him angry. For me. Okay, that felt good. I was angry too. Having someone to be angry for me—well, that was a vindication. What I was feeling wasn’t wrong. I mean, I knew that, but I needed backup. I would have never guessed this was where that backup would come from. I’d have thought it would be Marley.
Oz being on my side ignited a more powerful emotion.
“What is it they want you to do?” he asked slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“They want me to willingly hand them my medical records,” I explained. “I have nothing to hide, and it will clear this up, but the fact that they are demanding I give up my right to privacy over my body because of a lie that they believe is true is really hard for me to do. I’m having an internal battle.”
Oz shook his head. “No. You’re not giving those motherfuckers shit,” he said as if he was the final answer.
As hot as that was, he wasn’t telling me what to do either. I would be the one to make this decision.
He let go of my chin and looked over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “Open a bottle of wine, find something for us to watch. I’ll order food. What are you in the mood for? Mexican? Italian? Burgers? Pizza? Please do not say sushi.”
When he continued to stand there, waiting on me to reply, I realized he was serious. He was going to get us food and watch TV with me?
My little moment on the sofa on Monday, where I’d thought about him, sent heat to my face, and I turned away quickly to hide it.