Total pages in book: 172
Estimated words: 157460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Zyah had no choice but to take the empty space beside Player, as he refused to relinquish her hand. She sat straight, trying not to look at Player, feeling the pain crashing through his head beating at her. She was a little shocked that no one else in the room could feel it. He looked almost gray to her. Still, his thumb slid over her knuckles, rubbing back and forth as if she were his lifeline. With his other hand he tapped a rhythm on his thigh, never a good sign with him.
Her grandmother sat in her wheelchair looking regal, a thick pink blanket covering her legs. She inclined her head toward the two men as if bestowing benevolent gifts upon them as she waved them to the chairs opposite them.
“Do sit down, Jonas. You’re so tall I’m going to get a kink in my neck if I have to keep looking up at you,” Anat said, her warm smile in place. “There’s fresh tea and cookies.”
Jonas Harrington was the local sheriff and lived in Sea Haven, so when a call came in, it wasn’t unusual for him to answer in person. Beside him was Jackson Deveau, his deputy. He also resided in Sea Haven. He was married to the youngest Drake sister, and lived with her in the famous Drake home overlooking the sea. Jonas always looked pleasant and friendly. Jackson was just the opposite. Zyah hadn’t ever seen him look friendly.
“You have a beautiful home, Ms. Gamal,” Jonas said as he sank into the armchair. “I could use a little pick-me-up about now.” He reached for the teapot as if he’d been pouring tea all his life. “Would you like some as well?”
Anat nodded. “Call me Anat, please, Mr. Harrington. And I take it with milk.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” He grinned at her. “Jonas, then. What about you, Player? Tea? And you, Ms. Gamal?”
“Zyah,” she corrected, keeping her voice soft and open when she felt completely closed off.
She glanced at Player. Worried. He was the one feeling so closed off. He had shut down and gathered everything he was, burying himself deep. He was surrounding himself with barbed-wire fences and the intricate bombs he was building in his head, even the new one he was so intrigued with. He did that when he was uncomfortable or the migraine was too severe. She knew him so well. His hand was on his thigh, hers pressed deep to his muscle, almost as if he didn’t realize he was holding her hand now. He tapped that rhythm he’d been tapping since his childhood while he built his mythical bombs, which weren’t always so mythical, in order to take away the pain roaring through his head.
“I’d love a cup of tea, thank you.” Zyah tried not to be distracted. Even as she smiled at the sheriff, she felt a little desperate inside.
Maestro and Savage were in the room, and the two members of law enforcement had nodded a greeting to both. Savage seemed to just fade into the background. She always had a hard time remembering whether he was in the room or not once a conversation got started. She had no idea where Destroyer had gone. Maestro was always quiet, but he made his presence known, one hip resting on the sideboard, his gaze fixed on Jackson Deveau as if the deputy was a threat to them. Neither man seemed aware that Player was creating a situation where all of them could be in danger. They never seemed aware of it.
As Jonas poured the milk into the tea, Zyah shifted her body closer to Player until their thighs were pressed tight. Deliberately and very slowly, she ran the pads of her fingers down his arm, feeling every muscle along the way. His gaze jumped to her face.
She smiled at him. Fluttered her eyelashes. “When I got home from work today, you forgot to say hello to me.” She kept her voice soft. Intimate. Between the two of them, as if they were the only ones in the room.
It was difficult to look at him and not remember what it was like to kiss him. To feel his body moving in hers. To want to run her hands over his shoulders and down his back. To belong to him. To have him belong to her. She wanted to trace every line in his face with her fingers and rub the frown away, kissing him until he couldn’t do anything but kiss her back and remember how good it was between them. She pressed those feelings into his mind.
She had to save him from himself. She was not only desperate to stop him from building the images that would cause illusions and then turn those illusions into an alternate deadly reality, but she couldn’t stand for him to be in such pain. What was causing this terrible fracture of his mind? It wasn’t the brain injury. Steele had healed that. For a moment, just as the sheriff set her tea on the little table beside the love seat, she was afraid she might cry, right there in front of everyone. She had to figure out how to help him. Nothing was making sense.