Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Her chest heaves with slow, calming breaths against mine, and I reach up and push the soaking strands of hair off her beautiful face as those blazing green eyes stare back at me. “You good, doll?”
Her cheeks flush with the softest shade of pink, and when she smiles and nods, my chest aches with happiness, knowing that life will never get better than this. This right here is the epitome of life. This is everything. Just me and her. And maybe a handful of kids to fill our home with love, light, and laughter. But if we’re gonna have a few kids, then we’re gonna have to get a dog as well. Harper will probably want one of those girly dogs like a golden retriever, but I’d insist on a Great Dane that would always protect her and my babies when I’m not around.
“I love you, doll,” I tell her, reaching down to pull off her soaking wet heels before setting her on her feet, directly under the water to keep warm. “Always. You burn. I burn.”
She smiles up at me, her hand pressing against my chest. “Who would have known that my big, grumpy, sexy step-uncle would be such a giant softie.”
“I am not a softie.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks, splashing me with water before turning the faucet to freezing cold and sprinting out of the shower. “Prove it.”
A grin tears across my face. “It’s on, Morticia,” I tell her, watching as she takes off, soaking wet, giggling like a fucking hyena. “You better fucking run.”
6
HARPER-RAYN
Three weeks after the attack, I am going insane. Not the actual kind of insane that has me making up a whole imaginary sex-crazed stalker with twisted fantasies and a vampire mask. The other kind of insane where I’m going to scream if I don’t get to go back to normal life in the next three damn seconds.
This is the definition of going stir-crazy.
Being here with Knight has been amazing, and even better now that he’s realized I’m not as breakable as he thought. It’s been nothing but sex. Kitchen sex. Bedroom sex. On-my-knees surprise blowjob that turned into wild bathtub sex.
Every day. Every surface. Every damn position.
We physically can’t keep our hands off each other, and I absolutely love it, but just because I’m trapped at home, working through my doctor-prescribed bed rest sentence, doesn’t mean that Knight is, and every day, just as expected, his phone goes off, calling him in to work to be somebody else’s hero and taking him away from me, leaving me here to wallow in the Harper-Rayn Madden pity party for one.
To put it bluntly, I’m fucking bored.
Over these past few weeks, I have watched every episode of Vikings, Breaking Bad, and Sons of Anarchy. I’ve started about twenty different books, only to get half a page in and promptly put them down. I’ve attempted to learn how to crochet, and after today’s attempt at starting a veggie garden, only to run away screaming when I dug straight into a hornet’s nest, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I am simply incapable of occupying myself.
It’s official. I’m a needy child.
On the bright side, while these past few weeks have killed my mojo, I’m physically doing a million times better. I’ve bounced back from the attack like a slice of cheese pizza that’s fallen right-side-up on the ground, only to be saved by the five-second rule. My injuries have healed flawlessly, and while I’ll be dealing with an angry scar for a while, it will eventually fade until it’s no longer the first thing I see when I look in the mirror.
As for everything else, my healing process is just about the only good news I’ve had.
When it comes to tracking down the asshole who decided to dress up as my imaginary stalker and stab me in an empty parking garage, all leads have gone cold. From what I can tell, it seems that Detective Gray is ready to call it quits on the investigation, and if it weren’t for Knight constantly pushing for results, I’m positive that Gray would have already filed the case away.
I won’t lie, I’m more than disappointed. Every single lead took us directly to a dead end, leaving me with more questions than answers, and the longer this goes on, the more I wonder if I’d somehow imagined the whole thing. Did I even get stabbed, or was this just some twisted dream that I’m insisting was real? Surely there should be something by now. Though I suppose that’s partially on me. I haven’t been completely honest about my attacker.
When I spoke to Detective Gray and initially gave him my statement, I told him everything I could, except for the part where this guy was dressed as my stalker, mask and all. I could have told Gray how he had told me that getting the notes from my therapist was all too easy, and Gray could have followed the breadcrumbs. He could have searched the hospital surveillance and figured out who had been in Dr. Carzy’s office that didn’t belong, but instead, I kept my mouth shut, and that decision has torn me to shreds.