Southern Heat (Southern #6) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Southern Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
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"Let’s get you in bed," Amelia says, and Willow walks to her. “I can’t wait to see it all,” she says, and they walk out of the room. Amelia looks over at me and nods her head, and I know she will take care of her.

I walk out of the house, closing the door softly behind me and getting back into my truck. I pull out of the driveway with my heart in my stomach. I take one last look at the house before I take off, and I swear I feel her eyes on me.

Chapter 20

Willow

I watch him drive away from the house and then step away from the window. "I know it can be overwhelming," Amelia says, closing the walk-in closet she just opened to show me. “And I know you need your rest."

She walks over to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed, crossing her legs under her. My eyes take in the room, and I’m in awe. I have never seen a nicer room in my life. I have never seen a nicer home in my life. This is a fairy-tale castle where the princess lives. It’s just another reason I shouldn’t be here. “When you get up, we can put away the rest of your clothes."

I hold the black bag in my hand like a security blanket. "I really don’t know what to say." I look around. “About anything.”

"The good news is that you don’t need to really say anything." She smiles and gets up. “I’m going to go and get some work done while you nap."

She smiles at me and walks out of the door, closing it gently behind her. I finally drop the bag beside my feet and walk back to the bed, making the mistake of sitting on it. I sink into it like it’s a cloud in the sky. "I have to get out of here,” I say to myself, kicking off the flip-flops so I don’t get the cover dirty. I lay my head down on the pillow and make the mistake of turning on my side. Before I know it, I’m sinking into the darkness.

I feel a warmth all around me and then feel something put over me. I want to open my eyes, but the bed pulls me right back into slumber. When I finally open my eyes, I see that the room is almost dark, and it takes me a second to blink away the sleepiness. I look over and see the door open just a bit with a soft yellow light coming from the hallway. I sit up, and the blanket falls off me. Someone had put a blanket on me while I was sleeping.

I fold it back and get out of bed, going to the bathroom. The button on the pants take me a lot more time than just the hospital gown. I wonder if I should leave the room. I look out the window and see that Quinn’s truck is there, but Amelia’s truck is gone.

Inhaling deeply, I open the door and step out into the hallway to see if I hear any noise. The sounds of low talking have me stopping in my tracks. I take a couple more steps and look around the corner into the dimly lit room. I walk with my hand touching the wall as I look over my shoulder at the front door. The need to escape is becoming bigger and bigger. I stop in front of the writing that is on the wall.

The most important work you will ever do will be within the walls of your own home.

"You’re up," I hear Quinn say and turn to look at him getting up from the couch. Gone are his jeans and T-shirt and in its place are shorts and a T-shirt. "I came to check on you, but you were out."

"I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t hear you." I look at the television and see that he was watching something. "I …" I start to say, getting nervous.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and I want to say no, but my stomach has other plans as it rumbles. He laughs, and I look at him and see that his eyes look sleepy.

"Were you sleeping?" I ask, and he stops in front of me.

"I might have dozed off a bit,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “That couch is way more comfortable than that hospital chair.”

I swallow and look around when he walks away from me, heading to the fridge. “You don’t have to cook,” I say. “I can wait until tomorrow."

"You barely ate breakfast, and you skipped lunch,” he says, taking a glass baking dish out of the fridge and walking over to the oven.

"I’ll be fine if I have water,” I say, and he slams the oven door shut.


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