Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 111278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
This was just . . . it was all too much.
The health scare, getting fired, having no idea what step she was going to take next . . . it was all so terrifying. She’d always had goals, always been driven to succeed.
Only . . . now she was forty-five, and what did she have?
A body giving out on her. One that she didn’t recognize when she looked in the mirror because it seemed like the last twenty years had disappeared in a flash.
What did she have to show for all that drive? A healthy bank account and a bereft life with little meaning.
Shit. Fuck.
It was becoming harder and harder to get air into her lungs. Black dots danced in front of her eyes.
This wasn’t good.
Dominic Brand drove past the welcome sign for Wishingbone, grinning at the sign. It had been there about a week now, but no one had bothered to remove it.
He slowed with a frown as he saw a car pulled off the road in the distance. What was the person doing? They weren’t entirely off the road.
Maybe he should just drive on by and mind his business . . .
But that wasn’t the way he was built. So he drove up behind the Porsche and climbed out of his truck, grabbing his gun and tucking it into the back of his jeans.
Just in case.
It wasn’t likely he would need it, but he’d learned to be cautious over the years. He’d been a Marine for nearly twenty years and then worked for Jensen Security International for fifteen.
As he approached the vehicle, he saw it was still running. Was it someone on their phone? If so, they needed to be made aware of just how reckless it was to park this close to the road. Walking to the passenger side, since he didn’t want to be hit by a car coming over the hill, he frowned in worry as he saw a woman bent over in the driver’s seat.
Her forehead was resting against the steering wheel, and she didn’t seem to be moving.
Shit! Was she having a medical emergency?
He reached for the door, opening it. Damn it. Didn’t she know that she shouldn’t drive around with her doors unlocked?
He squashed the urge to scold her. Now wasn’t the time.
Generally, he didn’t make it a habit to go around lecturing strange women.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you all right?”
She didn’t reply.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He leaned over the passenger seat and tried to find a pulse.
He needed to call 911.
Then he heard her gasping. Was she having an asthma attack?
“Ma’am? Hey, ma’am, can you hear me? Take a nice, slow breath. Come on, look at me.” He touched her shoulder, hoping that he could push her back in her seat to see her face and check what was going on.
To his shock, as soon as he touched her, she sat up, staring over at him with the biggest, greenest eyes he’d ever seen.
And screamed.
3
Who the fuck was this guy?
Where had he come from? And why was leaning into her car, talking to her? Shit, it was incredibly unfair that he should look so damn gorgeous when he was clearly a criminal. One who liked to break into women’s cars when they were in the middle of a teeny-tiny panic attack.
Although . . . he’d actually managed to stop her panic attack in its tracks. She took another deep breath. Was that what it took to stop a panic attack? Being scared half to death?
“Please don’t scream again,” he said urgently.
“I have Mace! I’ll use it.” She snatched her bag from the passenger footwell and pulled out her Mace. “Stay back! I’ll spray it.”
He stared at her hand, then moved that bright blue gaze to her.
This was really unfair. He was truly gorgeous. A bit older than her, she was guessing, with a salt and pepper beard and lines around his eyes.
But age was being kind to him. And the guy looked fit.
Super fit.
Unlike her. Age was being really mean to her.
Completely unfair.
“Ma’am?”
“Urgh, will you please stop with the ma’am? Now, back up, carjacker guy, before I spray you in the eyes.”
“With your tampon?”
“What? No, with my Mace. Clearly this is . . . a tampon?” She stared at the tampon in horror. What was she doing? Was she really trying to scare this guy off with a tampon . . . although, to be honest, if you just mentioned tampons, periods, or bleeding, most men would run a mile.
Not this guy.
He wasn’t even flinching.
“Umm, maybe it’s Mace disguised as a tampon.”
“Good plan. It’s a bit small, though. You can’t carry much Mace in it.”
“I don’t need a lot, though, right?”
“I suppose not. Where does it spray out of, though?” he asked.
Fuck.
“Fine. Look. We both know this is just a tampon and not Mace. I do have Mace, though. And a Taser. Somewhere in my bag.”