Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
No, he can’t be sexy. He kidnapped you in the middle of the night, I tell myself.
Well, not him exactly, the other part of me argues as Travis leans down only inches from my face and meets my gaze with his. His sparkling green eyes take my breath away, and an audible gasp escapes between my dry lips. Oh, God, how embarrassing. Maybe I can play it off as if it was my sore throat.
He doesn’t respond to my gasp; maybe he didn’t hear it. One could only hope. It would be pretty creepy to perv on a criminal. His lips form a hard line and his eyes stay locked in place, intensely studying me as if I’m a mystery. It’s a little unnerving. After a few seconds, his expression changes and he gives me a weak smile.
“I’m sorry they were so rough on you, sweetheart,” he says with deep concern in his eyes. “I just gave you some medicine that will take care of your head, reduce the swelling, and help you rest. You’ve had a pretty rough night.”
Why is he calling me sweetheart? And why is he being so nice? Still very confused and full of hazy feelings due to the drugs still wreaking havoc on my body, his voice seems to be a soothing comfort. I open my mouth to speak, and immediately two of his fingers lay over my lips, preventing me from talking.
“Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Don’t try to speak right now. Sleep this off, yeah?”
I have too many questions to try to sleep this off, yeah? is what I want to say. Being taken by strange men and waking in a strange place with no answers is beginning to upset me. I feel him stroking the side of my head gently with his thumb, trying to keep me calm. His soft touch seems to be distracting me for the moment, and not to mention it feels good. I guess I should be thankful they are being nice criminals and not evil ones. Of course, I’m sure that could change at the drop of a hat. I know it’s foolish for me to want to rely on him for receiving true comfort and care. I don’t know if all his displays of affection are hiding his true bad-guy persona.
“Travis, I want you to stay with her for a while longer. Continue to monitor her; you seem to be keeping her calm. In the meantime, I’ve got business to tend to. We’ll meet back up later today to discuss her arrangements.” I’m so wrapped up in Travis I’d forgotten the other man is still here.
Travis turns his head, breaking eye contact, nodding his head in agreement at Nick. “No problem, man, I got this.” I watch the muscles flexing in Travis’ neck as he turns his head toward Nick. My eyes, for some reason, stay glued to this man. I hear Nick moving through the room, then the sound of the door shutting behind him. When Travis shifts his gaze back to me, he knows I’ve been staring. He lifts one eyebrow, and one side of his mouth turns up. I feel myself beginning to blush, so I shift my gaze to his chest. Oh, crap, that’s no better. Before I make an absolute mess of myself, Travis clears his throat.
“Your lips look very dry. You must be thirsty.” It was a statement, and he was not asking if I wanted a drink. He didn’t give me a choice. I find a straw resting on my lips in an instant. “Take small sips for me.” I am thirsty; plus, he insists. Who am I to say no? Oh, my God, what is wrong with me?
“That-a-girl.” When I’m finished drinking, he puts the water down on the nightstand beside us and for a second fiddles with something I can’t turn my head to see. When he brings his hand back toward me, he’s holding a Q-tip between his fingers. My eyes must squint in question because he explains, “Your lips are dry and cracked. I’m just putting some salve on them.”
His eyes transfix me as he concentrates on my lips, carefully applying the salve. My word, the simple touch of what he’s doing to my lips seems suddenly intimate. His close proximity has distracted me to the point I almost forget I’m in pain. When he pulls the Q-tip away, I mash my lips together, rubbing the ointment in.
He grins at me. “Better, yeah?”
It’s my undoing. Oh, hell yeah, it’s better. I grin back. “Thank you.” What the hell? I want to smack myself in the back of my own head; perhaps I’ve had brain damage, because I feel I’m no longer right in the head. I’ve been hijacked, and I’m thanking him. Am I nuts?