Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“Shit, you’re bleeding,” I say.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and usher her inside.
“I’m fine, Mickey. I swear. I’ll go home and put a band aid on it. It’s no big deal,” she’s babbling, too bright and cheerful, too dismissive. It’s going to hit her in a second and I want her somewhere safe and quiet when it does.
She doesn’t object when I guide her onto the private elevator and we head to the crow’s nest. Once we’re inside the room, I go to the bar cart and pour her a finger of whiskey. She shakes her head.
“No thanks,” she says.
“Drink it,” I tell her. “It shook you up whether you wanna be a cowboy about it or not.”
She sits not at the table but on the couch, legs tucked under her. I grab a blanket off the back of a chair and put it over her. She sips the whiskey, winces, then says, “That’s pretty good.”
“Irish, of course,” I tell her and she barely manages a half smile for me.
I get the first aid kit and clean the cut on her forehead. She shuts her eyes, holds still as I clean her up and bandage it. I’m aware of her paleness, the blue veins on her eyelids, the almost translucent skin and the tremble of her lips. I feel pent-up, like I want to roar and break things, destroy the fool who threw a rock and caused her any pain. Instead of raging, I put the first aid stuff aside and take her hand.
“Your hands are cold,” I complain. She shifts a little beside me on the couch.
“I’m freezing,” she admits, “It’s not even that cold outside.”
“It’s the shock and the stress,” I tell her.
“I thought he had a gun. I thought he shot at us at first,” she says in a low whisper.
I can’t help it then. I stroke her hair, kiss the top of her head. She moves into my arms and nestles against me, feeling small and cold and shaky. I kiss her forehead, rub her back, trying to get warmth back into her, to cherish and protect her. That’s the word, cherish. It keeps coming up and I’m not the most comfortable with it, but here we are.
“I’m so cold, Mick,” she says, her wide eyes still frightened, her gaze locking with mine. “Make me warm.”
I don’t need her to ask me twice.
12
KATE
Iknow what I’m doing when I ask. The chill, the aftermath of our run-in in the parking lot outside. Now I’m closeted in the crow’s nest, a dim, warm room like an emerald green and gold jewel box at the top of the casino with a big window looking out on all the action, disguised from the other side as a mirror.
Mick has already reached for me, holding me against his broad chest. I’m safe in the circle of his arms, and he kisses the top of my head, fond as any friend. But there’s more to it. I feel the unmistakable difference in the way he looks at me and touches me. I wonder if he’s going to take his time. Or if all the pent-up tension between us will explode in one swift, fierce coupling. It doesn’t seem like it would be anywhere near enough.
“I always thought it would be different,” I confess.
“Different how?” he asks.
“That we’d just get past the breaking point and do it up against an office door or in a stairwell—” I trail off sheepishly.
“You thought this was inevitable,” he says a little wonder in his voice.
“Well yeah,” I say. “I just wasn’t sure how it would happen. I held out hope though. That we’d both give in eventually.” I smile at him. Something hits me when I meet his eyes. “You were worried,” I accuse.
“You got hit with broken glass,” he says, fingertips stroking my hair back near where the bandage is. He kisses my temple and I clutch at his shirt. “I saw you bleeding and damn near lost my mind. I wanted to destroy them. Only thing that stopped me was you’re too precious to leave standing there. I had to get you in the building, get doors and walls between you and any danger. I wanted to bring you here.”
“I’m glad you did,” I say, I set the glass on a side table and turn back to him, not sure if it was the whiskey heating my veins or his nearness. I’m curled up in his arms on the couch and I tip my face up to look in his eyes. His big hand cups my cheek, strokes his thumb across my cheekbone. He really studies me and everything is going red and hazy at the edges.
I’m feeling pure sensation now with heated blood and trembling cold hands grabbing for his shirt and jacket. I clutch at the fabric in my fingers, waiting breathless while he cradles my face and then closes the inches between us.