Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
We say our goodbyes and Mia and I climb in the backseat of the SUV and I pull her close. The minute we’re moving, I cup her face and lean in, kissing her with a long stroke of my tongue, emotions I’ve suppressed for hours, all but bleeding from me into her. “I almost lost you tonight,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to hers, my lip at her ear, “I would not have survived losing you.” I pull back to look at her. “I can’t lose you.” I press my head to hers. “I would not have let him hurt you. No one will ever come that close again. You have my word.”
She pulls back, too. “You told me to get in and get out. You’re not mad at me?”
“You were trying. He wouldn’t let you and you were protecting me.” I stroke her hair from her face. “Most importantly, you’re alive, so no, I’m not mad at you.” I lean in and press my lips to her ear again. “But I might need to keep you in the bed, naked, and in my arms for a few days, just to convince myself you’re really okay.” I stroke her hair from her face. “And to make sure you know I have you. I’m not letting go. Ever, Mia.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, baby,” I say, pulling her into my arms and holding onto her. She lays against my chest, and she’s still trembling, quaking inside and I just want to take away the fear and trauma. The only way I know to do that is just to hold her and keep holding her for the rest of our lives. And I will, but I’ll do so just a little tighter right now until she’s ready for me to loosen that hold. Until she heals.
Chapter forty-two
Grayson
On the ride to our apartment, we meet Smith, our driver and one of Blake’s men, while Mia and I clean up as much of the blood we’re wearing as possible. The clean-up is successful with the exception of my white shirt splattered with blood and there’s no hiding it. “My father is going to freak out when he sees the blood,” Mia worries. “What was I thinking having him come here?”
I stroke her hair. “You were thinking that he’s going to hear all of this on the news if he doesn’t hear it from you first. You did the right thing.”
“Right,” she says. “I’m glad one of us remembers what I was thinking.”
“We’re here,” Smith announces, pulling us to the front of our building and I toss all the wipes we used in a trash bag at the back of his seat. “We’ll have men here at your building indefinitely,” he adds, glancing back at us. “Just in case you have trouble with the press. I can also drive your father home Ms. Cavanaugh.”
“Thank you,” Mia says. “And call me Mia. I doubt he’ll leave once he finds out what happened.”
“I’ll text you my number in case,” Smith says. “I’ll be here all night.” He eyes me. “Would you like an escort to your door, sir?”
“A bodyguard will only freak out Mia’s father,” I say, “so unless you think we need one, we’ll pass.”
“Not until the press finds you,” he says. “And right now, they’re focused on the crime scene. You should be fine tonight.”
I open the door. “Thank you, Smith.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mia says, and I’m encouraged by how much stronger she sounds, right up until the moment I help her out of the SUV and her knees give out.
She collapses against me and I hold onto her, the way I plan to hold onto her forever. “I got you, baby.”
“I know you do,” she says. “I know you do, and I can’t believe I forgot that. You charged at him.” Her voice cracks. “You tried to get him to point the gun at you. You knew he might shoot you.”
“We protect each other, remember?”
“Don’t ever risk your life like that again,” she scolds, her voice suddenly strong, a crackle of anger beneath the surface. “Every time I think of you running at him, of what might have happened, I start to shake all over again.”
I don’t promise her I won’t risk my life for her, because I would, I will, and I’d do it all over again to protect her. Instead, I maneuver her around me and shut the SUV door before setting us in motion toward the entrance to our building. The doorman, an older gentleman with white hair, is a new guy I don’t know well. His eyes rocket to my shirt like it’s a damn magnet, but he’ll most likely assume I was in a fight, which isn’t inaccurate. I stop and talk to him. “The press will be all over us in the morning. Be prepared.”