Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
It’s the damsel in distress shock, I bet. That, plus the fact that I’ve never kissed anyone. While that wasn’t really a kiss, it was the first time I’ve ever felt a man’s mouth on mine.
Something about the liquid push and pull between us brought me back. I don’t just mean the oxygen.
I curl my fingers in his, trying not to tremble.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say. “You must have better things to do than babysitting.”
“It’s not babysitting.” He continues holding my hand firmly. “It’s my job. The second you hit the ground, I clocked in.”
It’s my job.
Right, right, right.
Duty calls.
All the more reason why I need to stop tumbling head over heels into fantasyland and wondering if I should check myself in for brain damage.
“Of course,” I say distantly—then I tighten my hand in his and give myself a little bit of a pull.
What I’m not expecting is the way his arm flexes.
The way he lifts me up like I’m weightless.
The whole world spins for a second.
Gasping, I get my feet under me, trying not to waver from the surprise of it, bracing one hand against his chest.
Oops.
I freeze up for the tenth time today.
Yes, with my hand still locked in his while my other hand rests over the beat of his heart.
He’s so calm on the outside. So withdrawn, this impenetrable alabaster statue. But under my palm, there’s a heartbeat just as wild as mine.
Is he caught up in this strangeness too?
Or is he just wondering what the hell is wrong with me?
He pulls away, just as I tilt my head back to look up at him. His hand untangles from mine and my fingers fall away from his chest, leaving me feeling oddly chilled.
He’s not looking at me now. He’s looking over my head, toward the crowd still lingering along the sidewalk and the edge of the square.
Or is he looking past them at something else? There’s a sudden burst of black crows taking off from a nearby lamppost.
“She’ll be fine. Move along now, people,” he says with a flash of annoyance. His cool, dry voice projects authority.
I’m grateful.
I really am.
I’m so flipping tired of people gawking like I’m going to die right in front of them.
I’m going to be okay.
Sure, I passed out, but my head feels clearer now. I’m only a little sore from banging my hip and my elbows when I fell.
My legs are steady. I think I can walk.
I test my balance, bending to pick up my purse and my portfolio, gathering my scattered belongings back into my plain leather shoulder bag. I don’t get dizzy when I dip down. There’s a little head rush when I stand, but that’s normal enough.
When I rise, I find Officer Ainsley watching me closely.
Why do I feel like I’m being watched by a hungry animal? Even after he inclines his head politely, his eyes shuttering over as he gestures toward the café up the street.
“After you, Miss Grey.”
“Talia!” I correct again. “You said it before.”
He doesn’t say anything.
He just moves silently at my back, this pale shadow of a man trailing in my wake, making me feel so warm and haunted as we make our way to Red Grounds.
4
DARKEST LIGHT (MICAH)
Talia damn Grey.
I roll the name on my tongue silently as I follow her back to Red Grounds. I’m watching her closely, making sure she’s steady, I tell myself.
Making sure she’s not downplaying any injuries worse than she cares to admit.
Seems like her pantyhose took more of a beating than she did, thankfully. There’s a long rip in the sheer material, stretching from her ankle to the hem of her skirt, baring a strip of pale freckle-dotted skin.
I shouldn’t fucking notice that.
I only glance for medical reasons.
Medical. Reasons.
Good thing she’s walking steadily enough, this slender pink slip of a woman who must get off on looking like strawberry shortcake.
The girl has a quick stride like a doe. She almost trips when she gets to the mess of coffee and empty cups I left splattered on the sidewalk.
Her pretty face contorts.
I ignore it like I’m not the clown who put it there.
As we near the café, I step around her and pull out one of the elegant wrought-iron chairs at an outdoor table.
“Have a seat. I’ll get you something to drink. Water or iced tea?”
After hesitating, she nods, settling slowly into the chair. “Iced tea works. Of course, I’ll pay you back.”
“You won’t.”
She stares at me over her shoulder with those big blue eyes, her teeth sinking into one corner of her mouth to plump it to ripeness.
Fuck me, I shouldn’t be noticing.
Still, there’s something about the way her body language changes when she’s close to me. The way she holds herself away so carefully, not quite touching me and yet seeming so painfully aware of my nearness.