Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
But this … this is different.
My quickening heartbeat is the same. The urge to walk around, to pace, is the same. Only it’s not anxiousness I feel.
It’s anticipation.
For Zander to get here. I want him to arrive, to start his shift. I want to sense the danger in the air. I want to put myself near the risk of him. It’s safe, although it seems the antithesis. I know it is. Maybe that’s why I feel so brave, and so reckless. He has to protect me. He’s obligated to.
With the warmth of the ceramic mug pressed against my palm, my gaze shifts from the handmade lantern seated near the covered porch to the stone driveaway. My heart races, although I don’t show it. Damon’s eyes are still on me, so I merely sip the tea and return to the blank notebook in my lap. Blank with the exception of the sketch of the lantern. It was a gift from my girlfriend, Kelly, on her last trip to Alaska—she thought it would suit my home perfectly, and she was right. The light is brilliant at night, peeking through the varying sized holes of the glazed pottery. It creates a constellation against the dark wood roof. It’s one of the things I dream of that doesn’t bring the past to haunt me. Staring at the stars, imagining the northern lights I still have yet to see.
His car trundles down the street in front of my house at five minutes to nine. I take the interruption of the quiet night as my cue to stand, gathering my teacup to take to the kitchen. I allow myself a single glance before opening the large glass porch door. I can’t see him, except for the outline of his shadow and his hands on the wheel, but every inch of my body tightens. Air flowing through my house caresses every inch of exposed skin. There’s not much, what with my cashmere burgundy sweater and leggings. Headlights illuminate glimpses of the picket fence and the planters outside as he makes his way to the back of the house.
Where am I supposed to be?
My room? The sitting room? He’ll come through the kitchen, through the door in the back entrance, and I have the urge to present him with a pretty picture. A relaxed woman, waiting on him. Exactly how he’d like me to be. The heat of my skin only adds to the untamed gallops in my chest.
But I’m not that woman. This is not a normal evening, and Zander’s not coming home to me. He’s coming to do his job.
I want him to do that job. Call me a sinner, or whatever name suits me best; I can’t help what I want.
Striding through to the kitchen, I offer Damon a tight smile when he peeks up at me, checking as he’s done all day. When I flip on the recessed lights over the stove, I’m certain Zander will know I’m in here, and I wait in front of it. The tap to the heated water begs me to fill my cup and I do, then add in a fresh sachet. Inhaling the comforting aromas of peppermint and chamomile, I do what I can to calm myself.
My heart pounds with the silence of the day and with Damon’s prying eyes.
Damon steps into the kitchen as Zander’s headlights cut off. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks softly. He’s almost casual about it, the way he might be if he were a guest in my house and not one of my bodyguards. Or prison wardens, as my internal voice sarcastically jokes.
I swallow hard and summon up a sentence for him. Better to get warmed up now, before Zander comes in. “It’s just a cup of tea, so I can manage, thank you.” It didn’t hurt much at all. If I keep my voice low, the vibrations limited, I find it doesn’t pain me like it used to.
“You were fairly quiet today. I hope you know you can come to me whenever you want to talk.”
“I do. Thank you.”
“And the notebook? Is there anything you’d like to share?” he questions and my smile is genuine in response.
“I’ve done a poor drawing I wouldn’t want to bother you with.” My shoulders relax and with the rough laughter from the man across from me, I smile into the cup of tea. A cup that needs to sit longer so the tea can steep.
Damon’s got an easy smile. He’s not like Zander. Zander has a seriousness that follows him like a thundercloud. Like a dark suit, though he doesn’t wear one when he’s here. He wore a suit for court, but that’s not what he wears on the night shifts. Dark jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt. Clothes he can be comfortable in. It was my request. I remember staring Cade straight in the eye when I told him I didn’t want to be outdressed and they were putting too much pressure on me. It was a joke, but the poor man took it seriously until I apologized for my dry humor. I’m grateful he allowed the change in dress code. They still read as professionals, and it does put me at ease, a little more than before.