Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Lock him out? Why would I do that when I can smother him with a pillow while he's asleep?
He disappears from view, leaving me standing in the middle of my bedroom, my mind spinning. Madden didn't hire a bodyguard. He hired a crazy man. And God help me, I think I love it.
I grab my pajamas and head to the bathroom, praying I'm dressed and in bed before he gets back inside. Maybe then I can hog all the covers. Wait. Am I seriously about to let this happen?
Yes. Yes, I think I am.
I don't know the first thing about playing house with a man like him. I don't know the first thing about men like him, period. But I do know one thing. I've spent far too much of my life running just because I didn't want to end up like my mom. Maybe it's time to stop running and find out once and for all.
When I step out of the bathroom ten minutes later, Zion's standing beside the bed in nothing but a pair of boxers with his shirt in his hands. I stumble to a stop, my eyes locked on his body. He's ripped from head to toe, every inch of him made of thick, corded muscle.
But the skin over that muscle? Brutal scars mottle his golden skin, standing in stark contrast to the perfection of the rest of him. Most are old, but they were obviously painful. Some are still red and angry, as if they never faded past that initial stage of healing.
"Zion," I whisper, my heart in my throat. "What happened to you?"
"Shit." He starts to pull the shirt on over his head, but I throw up a hand, halting him.
"Don't." I stumble across the floor to him, one hand outstretched.
He flinches, his body rigid with tension. His jaw locked tight. Something dark glitters in his eyes. Not malice or anger but grief, a yawning well of it. As if he knows loss on a level that I'll never be able to comprehend.
"Don't hide from me," I plead, not sure what I'm asking. I just know that I don't want him to put that shirt on right now and cover this part of his story. I don't want to be the person who flinches from what he carries. Whatever it is…I want to know.
He slowly lowers his hands, exhaling a long, slow breath. "War happened, angel baby," he says quietly.
"You were injured?" Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden.
"Shot," he says, his voice clipped, as if it still pains him to talk about it. "We got hemmed up in a little village in Syria. Command wanted us to pull out, but we were after a group of hostages. Mostly women and children." He exhales a breath. "I wasn't leaving without them."
"Zion."
"Don't go looking at me like the hero of this story, Makenzie. I'm not. All I managed to do was get myself shot all to hell. We didn't save the hostages. Barely managed to save ourselves." His eyes glitter with some emotion I don't have a name for. It's one I've never experienced. Because of men like him, I never had to experience it. "My team dragged me out, their fingers plugging bullet holes."
A tear drips down my cheek, grief for him pricking at my heart.
He reaches for my hand, lifting it toward his neck. "You feel that?" he asks, placing my fingers behind his ear. There's a small mass of scar tissue hidden in the hair behind his ear. He traces a line down his neck with my finger, stopping at a larger, angrier mass at his collarbone. "That's the bullet that should have killed me. Instead, it took most of my hearing."
"I'm so sorry, Zion."
"That's my story, angel baby. That's what I hide beneath my clothes." He releases my hand, cupping my cheeks in his to dry my eyes. "You're breaking my fucking heart crying for me."
"You're worth crying over, Zion Carmichael."
A little of the pain in his eyes washes away as a smile ticks up the corners of his lips. "Keep talking like that, and I might not ever let you go." He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine before I can respond. "Come on, into bed."
I hesitate for a minute, earning a little tap on my hip.
"Bed, Makenzie. Now."
"Well, I understand one thing now," I mutter, scowling at him as I move toward the bed.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Why you're such a bossy pain in my freaking a–"
My words die in a rush as he spins me around so fast my head spins. Before I can even process the fact that I'm falling, I'm against his chest, staring up into blazing green pools of eternity.
His hand plunges into my hair, his lips coming down on mine. His kiss is tinged with sweetness and steeped in sin, as if I set something loose inside him that he can't contain. I feel it growing inside of him. I feel it growing inside of me.