Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“It was literally an act of revenge because he lost his job.” My hand slides around to her ass, and I give it a little pat. “What else do you want to know?”
“When you went to the hospital, what happened then? I went back to my apartment and my life, but I don’t know what happened to you.”
I feel my lips twitch, and she scowls.
“It’s not funny.”
“No, but I like knowing that you were worried about me.” I lean up and kiss her chin. “I was in the hospital for close to a week. I had to have emergency surgery because one of the bullets grazed an artery—that’s why there was so much blood, but I obviously didn’t bleed out. They got me stitched up, but I did almost lose the leg.”
Lena gasps, her face going pale again, and I frame her face in my hands and pull her forehead against mine.
“I didn’t, though. I stayed in DC for a year, working with the best PT team in the country because I was determined to go back to work, but the leg will never be at a hundred percent. Once that was decided, I came back home to the ranch, built this house, and started my business.”
She closes her eyes for a minute and then pushes her hands into my hair.
“And you never got married?”
“No.” I nuzzle her nose. “I didn’t.”
I stand and carry her to the stairs, and she wraps her legs around my waist, nuzzling my neck.
“Gideon?”
“Yes, baby.”
“I’m so fucking glad you didn’t choose anyone else.”
I smile against her shoulder and hug her to me when I stop by the bed.
“There is no other choice for me, Rebel. Just you. Always you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lena
The bed is empty.
Well, aside from me.
Waking up alone isn’t unusual. Ever since I adjusted to the time change, I rarely wake up before six. And since I’ve been sleeping in Gideon’s bed, I sleep like a baby. Nightmares are rare now, and sleeping in his arms is an addiction I don’t want to recover from.
I think it would drive me crazy if I had to go back to sleeping without him. And the best part is, I don’t have to.
He said I can stay.
Gideon almost always wakes up before me, leaves me to sleep in this big, cozy bed while he gets some work, or a workout, in before I get up and start my day.
It’s become a routine, and I kind of love it. It feels so . . . easy. So perfect for us. And this morning is no different.
It’s been a week since the incident at the shooting range, and I’m determined to get back out there today to shoot that damn rifle. Gideon’s kept me away from there, focusing on hand-to-hand and other exercises, but I’m ready to try again.
I will succeed today.
I know I can do it. I feel so much stronger since I’ve lived here with Gideon. The bad moments are fewer and farther between, and since our conversation last week, I’ve felt a shift in me and how I feel about the entire incident.
It’s still the worst night of my life.
But I realize that it wasn’t my fault. Those shooters would have been there with or without me in attendance. I’m not the reason that Gideon was shot.
I still hate it, but I’ve let a lot of the guilt go.
And today, I’m going to shoot the rifle that scares me and let that go too.
I climb from the bed and wander into the bathroom to do my business, pull my hair up into a ponytail, and after I brush my teeth, I wash my face and then move to the closet to pull on some leggings and a baggy sweatshirt over a sports bra. No matter what we decide to do today, this outfit will work for it.
After I leave the bedroom in search of coffee, I hear Gideon’s voice in his office, and I stop in the doorway, watching him.
He’s in his usual uniform of black tee and black tactical pants, and his tattoos are delicious in the early-morning light. Just looking at him makes me wet.
But I don’t like the way he’s rubbing his forehead in agitation or the hard set of his shoulders.
“Yes, Madam President.”
I lift an eyebrow. He’s talking to my mom.
His eyes lift to mine, and he offers me a half smile, making my thighs clench.
Christ, he’s handsome.
His eyes fall to where I’m clenching my legs together, and he smirks.
“She’s doing well. Would you like to speak to her?”
No, she likely won’t.
Gideon scowls, confirming my suspicions.
“It’s no trouble, she’s right—yes, ma’am. Understood.”
He hangs up and sighs, and I cross the room to him. Gideon shoves his chair back from the desk as I move to stand in front of him, and he buries his face in my stomach as his arms come around my hips and he hugs me.