Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Son of a bitch.
He gave me a terrible glare before his eyes finally flicked down, as if noticing that I wasn’t wearing a shirt.
Or maybe he was finally noticing that I had boobs.
The Defender’s gaze moved back up toward my face.
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then he grunted something under his breath before slowly sitting up, wincing as he did. But once he was in a seated position, his gaze was steady on mine as his hands went to his hoodie and he unzipped it.
Part of me expected him to hand it over once he’d peeled it off, but he set it aside and let his hands drop back toward his waist.
And that’s when he pulled the shirt up over his head and tossed it.
It hit me in the face.
By the time I pulled it off, he was pulling the hoodie back on, zipping it up over his abs, then the rest of him.
Even with my head on the verge of bursting, I’d gotten a good look at everything.
Including his chest.
The chest.
The chest to end all chests.
I’d noticed it was a nice one before, but I hadn’t appreciated just how magnificent it really was.
His shoulders were just as broad as they looked in the unforgivable suit that I had a feeling he’d completely eviscerated since there hadn’t even been ashes anywhere after he’d taken it off. The amount of muscle mass—all defined and impressive—shouldn’t have been surprising. Because again, the suit hugged everything. But it still caught me off guard. He was shredded. Striations lined his shoulders, his biceps were a work of art, even his forearms deserved a symphony for how perfectly they were covered with hair.
There were also his pectorals and thick, solid abs, which were also covered with a sprinkling of dark hair.
He glared at me for about the millionth time. “Would you close your mouth?”
I closed it and glared right back. “Nobody told you to strip, Magic Mike, and I didn’t say anything when you were looking at my boobs a second ago. You could’ve just given me the hoodie instead of getting naked.”
He finished raising the zipper as high as it would go, right between the notches of his collarbones, giving me a long, long look as he did it. “It’s easier for me to hide my eyes with the hoodie, if I have to,” he grumbled in Portuguese.
Oh.
That made sense.
He switched back to English. “Are you done crying now?”
I shrugged.
“You done fingering my throat?”
My face burned. “You can only blame yourself for that. I was trying to save your life.”
His snort shocked me.
“You should have woken up, and I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. We’re both idiots, all right?” I tried to compromise.
“Speak for yourself.” Those purple eyes narrowed even as he pushed himself back against the wall, watching me the whole time.
I shivered just as another throb came from my head, reminding me of just how bad I felt. My arms were clumsy as I pulled the shirt on slowly, careful not to jostle my shoulder or the other million body parts that were achy. It wasn’t warm, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing. I would rather have the hoodie, but fine. He needed to hide his eyes.
And why was I so dizzy all of a sudden?
Breathing in deeply through my nose even though it triggered that pain from my ribs, I pushed backward until my back touched the opposite wall and I groaned. I tipped my head to rest against it too. Then I watched as The Defender eyed my every move.
My vision went blurry again, this time without the help of water being poured into my eyeballs, and I swallowed hard, scrubbing at the back of my neck with my clean hand.
I wanted to ask him what his deep rest meant and just how much better he was feeling, but my head….
“What is it?” the grumpy voice asked, reminding me he was observant even if he was mad.
I closed my eyes as a shiver snaked down my frame. Then I told him the truth. “I don’t feel so good.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
“What’s wrong with you?” a familiar, rich voice asked as I cracked my eyes open.
I moaned. Oh shit. Had someone beat me up and then run me over with a Humvee while I’d been sleeping?
I tried to take a breath, instantly realizing just how hard that was. If I’d thought I’d felt like hell before, it was nothing compared to right then. It was like something heavy was sitting on my chest. My mouth was dry, and my head was still pounding as hard as ever. Basically, I felt like fucking shit as my eyes focused on the face peering down at me.
I recognized it, but it still managed to look different.
It was a smooth face with golden tan skin, beautiful and dewy; elegant features were framed by brown hair that hit almost at a jawline that would make a sculptor cry. But it was the roundish-shaped eyes that I focused on next, with their dark purple irises framed by thick, black lashes.