Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
He knew.
Lincoln knew what had caused the cut on my arm.
Who had caused it.
I felt sick to my stomach as one memory after another began to hit me.
I’d thrown up on him. I’d bled on him. He’d had to fucking carry me to the damn toilet so I could piss. He’d had to pull down my goddamn underwear…
Humiliation and shame snuffed out every little bit of warmth that remained and the familiar cold returned. Hot tears pooled in my eyes. I angrily swiped at them with my hands, then my arms.
I cried out when a sharp stab of pain went through me. I’d forgotten about the bandaged cut on my arm as I’d wiped the tears away.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said with every sharp breath that escaped my lips.
On cue, the bed dipped next to me.
“Let me see,” Lincoln said smoothly. Professionally. Like he hadn’t spent what had likely been hours squished in the tiny, uncomfortable chair.
I automatically tried to pull my arm away from his reach, but he must have known what I was going to do because he’d easily closed his fingers over mine and gripped them firmly. His other hand worked quickly to remove the white gauze bandaging on my arm. When he got down to the skin, he slowed his movements. I didn’t even realize he’d released my hand until I saw him carefully remove the underlying dressing. His other hand was cradling my arm. Little zaps of sensation fired beneath my skin where he was touching me.
As disturbing and confusing as those little zaps were, focusing on them was much more pleasant than thinking about the pain on the other side of my arm.
When the cut was revealed, I was surprised to see that the skin around it was no longer an angry red. There was no disgusting green liquid leaking from the cut and, thankfully, no fresh blood either.
“Should’ve stitched this,” Lincoln murmured. I knew he was talking to himself and not me.
“No, it’s good,” I said as I carefully drew my arm away from him. I was glad when he released me because those little zaps stopped.
Yep.
Glad.
I could practically hear my inner voice laughing its ass off at my blatant denial.
I knew exactly what those zaps meant and so did my dick.
Fuck, I could not be attracted to this man. I just couldn’t.
“…scar won’t be too bad,” I heard Lincoln say.
“What?” I asked dumbly. Here I’d been consumed with thoughts of zaps and attraction and my morning wood becoming even more woody and he’d been talking about my wound.
No zaps for him.
No popping sensations under his skin.
No fire shooting up his arm.
No quickening of his breath.
“I said I need to dress the wound again, but you’ll be able to go without a bandage in a few days,” Lincoln responded. When he didn’t continue, I lifted my eyes to meet his.
He’d been watching me while I’d been staring at the spot where those fucking zaps had been. My arm was hovering above his muscular, denim-clad thigh. I wanted to rest it there. No, actually I wanted him to put my arm there. I wanted him to take—
My mind snapped back to reality before I could finish the sentence. I immediately dropped my eyes again. Lincoln’s eyes were just too blue. Dark blue like the ocean as the sun fell below the horizon.
“I also said you’d end up with a scar but that it wouldn’t be that bad,” Lincoln continued.
Something in the way he said the words was off. I lifted my eyes again and found that he was staring at me.
Studying me.
Studying my reaction to the announcement that I’d have a scar.
All the warm thoughts I’d been having turned to rot as my body went numb. The urge to escape the room was so strong that my entire body began to shake.
I hated him in that moment. He was like all the others. Good-looking or not. Gentle or not. Patient or not. It was all an act. This was the real Lincoln. He liked toying with me. He liked thinking he wielded some kind of power over me because he knew one of my secrets.
I turned the need for my razor blade inward and let the white-hot anger mix with the nothingness. I mentally focused on the balance the two emotions would bring when they collided.
Air began to flow through my lungs again as my brain adapted to the situation.
Just play the right role, Theo.
“It will be a good reminder of my stupidity,” I said easily. “Didn’t you say you wanted to dress the wound again?” I laid my arm on the bed, leaving the large cut as well as its many predecessors exposed. He’d already seen all the other scars on my arm and likely the ones on the rest of my body as well, so there was no reason to hide any of it.