Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
I ease from the comfort of Maxim’s powerful arms, careful not to wake him. After we made love, he jumped on a call to Hong Kong and must have been up long after I fell into a love-drowsed sleep. I woke briefly when he slipped into bed and pulled me into his arms, but only long enough to kiss him and fall back asleep. He needs to rest. I thought I worked hard. This man never stops but also never seems to tire. He’s a phenomenon. My phenomenon. I’ve never been with a man like Maxim. There are no men like Maxim. Not for me.
Run.
I stand, pad into my closet, and slip on my running gear. In minutes, my hair is pulled into a ponytail, my sneakers are on, and I’m ready to go. I pause as I’m leaving the room to glance at my bed. The predawn light teases the strong lines of his face from the shadows. He’s beautiful, there’s no denying that, but beyond his physical beauty, he’s principled and brilliant and funny.
And so damn intense.
If I leave now, there might still be time for a morning quickie when I return. I step into the hall and jump when a large man with a jagged scar bisecting his forehead stands right outside my door, his eyes as alert as if it’s noon instead of just past five a.m.
Mena referenced Maxim’s “battalion,” but this is my first time encountering it. First order of business when I return from my run is to get rid of all this security. It’s unnecessary and impractical now that there’s no real threat. Are they going on the campaign trail with me? Hopping planes to crisscross the country as I follow Owen to all the states we need to hit? I don’t think so.
“Um, good morning.” I offer a tentative smile to the grim-faced giant guarding my hallway.
“Good morning, Ms. Hunter.” His words roll out hard and rough like bits of gravel.
I walk to the elevator and am peeved when he gets in with me.
“You don’t have to come,” I say, smiling even as my brows pinch together in a frown. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”
“We have our orders, ma’am.” He pushes the button for the lobby.
I press the button to hold the doors open. “Your orders don’t come from me.”
“You are my orders, Ms. Hunter.” Now he starts frowning and presses the lobby button again.
I stab the doors open button and hold my finger there. “Get off. I don’t want company on my run.”
The elevator buzzes, signaling that the doors have been held open too long.
Apparently unbothered by the annoying noise, he folds his arms and leans against the elevator wall like he has all day.
“I’m serious,” I snap, losing patience. “If you follow me, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re harassing me.”
“My job is to protect you.”
“Then you need a new job. I’ll tell Mr. Cade so when I return from my run, which I plan to take alone.” I nod to the hall beyond the open elevator doors. “Off.”
With a shake of his head and an exasperated huff of breath, he steps out of the elevator.
“And tell your buddies downstairs to back off, too,” I say, remembering Mena mentioning more guards in the lobby. I’ve lived my whole life without security. I had a close call in Costa Rica, but it was an isolated incident, extenuating circumstances. I don’t need to spend the rest of my life under guard.
When I exit the elevator, a man speaks into an earpiece and tracks my progress past the lobby desk and out the door. Hopefully, the bridge troll upstairs informed him I’m free to leave my own building unaccompanied.
The bite of the cold January air invigorates me instantly, stinging my cheeks and snapping at the little bits of skin my thermal running clothes leave exposed. Swift steps carry me to the park not far from my building, and I nod and smile to the other runners out this morning. DC has been voted the fittest city in America for several years, partly because we have so many great running trails and options. I was in a runners’ group that met a few mornings a week, but my schedule ate that ritual up and spat it out when we managed a few tough campaigns back-to-back. I’d forgotten how good the community and camaraderie of it feel. Still, nothing compares to the deep kinship I had with my fellow students when we ran across the country raising awareness about water crises in Native communities and on protected lands.
In the park not far from home, I stretch for a few minutes, my breath forming little puffs in the chilly air while I start gentle exertions to ease my body into the demands of the run ahead. I begin at a moderate pace, waking my muscles and stirring my blood. The trees decorated with cherry blossoms in the spring are stripped bare, their spindly branches reaching out like bony fingers when I jog past.