Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I swallow hard. “Markov, you need to leave him alone. He’s in the program with me.”
The flash of his eyes is almost predatory and makes my heart quicken with a mix of fear and anticipation.
“He’s hot for you, and he’s a dick. I’ll take care of it. Now get up and ready so we’re not late.”
I shake my head in disbelief, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and alarm, when I glance at the time. “Oh my God! We have to be there in ten minutes!”
“Do you need more time than that?” His question comes casually, as if our earlier exchange hasn’t altered the dynamics of our relationship. It’s so strange that all of a sudden he’s speaking English. I can hardly wrap my brain around the sudden shift. Part of me is relieved-- now, I actually have an ally here, one I can communicate with.
But can I trust him? Doubt gnaws at me, unsettling my thoughts. There I go again, thinking like we’re in a romance novel.
We have no relationship beyond the professional. There is no foundation of trust or affection. He works for my father and is my bodyguard. Period. End of story.
But is anything really that simple?
“Okay, listen. I can get ready in ten minutes, but for future reference, I typically need a little more than that.” I gesture in my hair. “My hair alone can take ten minutes. “
“Why?” He looks genuinely confounded.
“It goes all frizzy when I sleep. I can’t walk out in public like this.”
He shakes his head. Even though he speaks English, it still feels like he has a language barrier.
“You could braid it? I’ve heard my sister say that helps.” He averts his eyes for a moment as if he shouldn’t have said that. Huh.
“Well, I don’t know how to braid it. Not on myself anyway. And that would make me look so young. I’m already basically the youngest one in the program. . .”
Markov scowls. “We have no time to argue details. Look, I can braid it for you. And you don’t look young. You come off too collected and mature to look like a child. That American, though, he looks like a child. Do you have a hair tie?”
Wait. Did I actually wake up, or am I still dreaming?
I stare at him before replying. “I have a hair tie.”
We have no time to waste, and he’s right. . . it would help me get ready. Braiding will quickly tame it, and then I can dash on some makeup and change into some nice clothes. Next thing I know, I’m rummaging through my bag, trying to find a hair tie.
“You’re already dressed! Did you do that while I was sleeping? Did you even get any rest?”
“Yes, I changed when you were sleeping. No, I didn’t sleep but it’s no matter. Give me the hair tie.”
Am I really going to let him braid my hair?
Do I have much choice other than doing a messy and weird bun? While I wouldn’t call myself vain, I’d like to avoid the mad scientist look if I can help it.
He gestures for me to sit at the desk chair while he stands behind me. It feels strangely intimate when he runs my brush through my hair. I quickly take it from him and shake my head. “I can do this part.” My cheeks are hot again, the heat creeping down my neck. I hope he doesn’t notice.
I brush my hair, pulling out the tangles, and I know exactly what it looks like now. The tangle-free fluffy mess is reminiscent of cotton candy.
“Where did you learn how to braid hair?”
“My brother has a stepchild. My niece. She’s three years old and has long blonde hair. I’m one of her favorites. So I learned. It’s not hard. “
Ugh, that’s adorable. Dammit.
He quickly gathers the hair at the nape of my neck, sending little tingles down my spine. It’s the sexiest thing a man has ever done to me, which is really pretty pathetic if you think about it.
I like the feel of his warm hand on the back of my neck. Separating the hair into strands, and with a tenderness that belies the way he’s been until now, he plaits my hair. When he’s done, he surprises me by giving it a little tug.
“Hey! What was that?”
“For talking back to me earlier.” He leans down, not quite touching me, but so close that the warmth of his breath tickles my neck. “Don’t do that again. Behave yourself, Vera. Remember, I’m your husband. You should show your husband some respect.”
Before I can gather up my thoughts or somehow slow the rapid beating of my heart, he’s gone, and I’m left wondering. . . Is Markov flirting with me? Or was he serious? I can’t look at him because I’m afraid that if he sees my eyes, he’ll somehow know that that little threat made me all kinds of hot and bothered. My God.