Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
He mouths “Pub Michael” and starts for the stairs. “Relax, I’m not coming in with you. I won’t even expect a tip when I drop you off at the door, Pub Win.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“You want a tip? You can’t just tell people to relax while hauling them around like luggage,” I inform him. “It’s called personal boundaries and everyone should respect them.”
“Your ankle is swollen and you’ve been in and out of consciousness,” is his quick rejoinder. “Right now, you need my help more than I need boundaries.”
One of us needs boundaries. Because this feels good and I’m trying not to forget that I don’t know why he’s really here yet. Or who he’s with. Or anything about him other than he’s multilingual, has cute dogs and I still want him.
When we reach the base of the stairs he says, “You weren’t this bashful last time.”
I cross my arms and frown because I thought we weren’t going to mention that again. “I was delusional and freezing.”
“That’s not the time I’m talking about.”
I’m pale, so when I blush it’s obvious. Based on the heat level of my cheeks right now, my face must be the shade of a Red Delicious on fire.
“I can’t believe you went there,” I mutter.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t recall that night or haven’t thought about you since then just to make this situation more palatable for you.” His voice is quiet now. Deeper. “I would have looked for you the next day, but I didn’t want to overstep after what happened. I wanted to tell you… I’m sorry your friend was hurt.”
And I’m sorry you disappeared without a trace.
I don’t say it. It’s not like we were dating, or even friendly. We made out. One of us almost came. That didn’t mean he had to hold my hand in the hospital while I waited to see how badly Bex was injured after the attack.
There was no stalker or crazy-but-harmless fan, like we originally thought. There were two men in balaclavas who attacked Bex and Kate when they were talking outside the building. Bex tossed Kate back inside and closed the door, taking the brunt of the abuse—along with a warning. The whole thing, she admitted to me when she could finally talk, was a message for Ken Tanaka. Kate’s online presence just made her the most convenient method to deliver it.
“Is she okay now?”
“She’s better.” I shake my head wryly. “In fact, she’s the reason I took this job in the first place. Which means I can blame her for this entire debacle of a day and feast on her guilty tears for years after I get home.”
He pauses at the top of the stairs and looks at me with hooded eyes. “Then I guess I owe her one.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Damn, he’s good. The implication that he’s happy to see me again has my Skinny Winnie movie being adapted for the Hallmark Channel as we speak. That is, if Hallmark’s offerings were X-rated and the producers were fine with no-strings happy endings.
Now if Michael will just tell me he’s not here on a date with someone else, I can start hoping he’d be amenable to some kidnapped-by-a-mountain-man role-play.
You need to stop reading every book Bex lends you.
I can’t help it. She’s been reading more than usual while convalescing, which means I have too, but those stories are now giving me a lot of dirty ideas. I need to calm my overexcited dick until I get a few more answers.
He’s not family, but he is here for the Finn family event. Isn’t Seamus Finn’s stupidly rich husband half Turkish? Maybe Michael is one of his bodyguards, off duty but nearby in case he’s needed. It would explain his fluency with the language, and why he isn’t mingling with everyone else. He does give off a protective vibe, although I don’t think bodyguards usually travel with teacup poodles, or whatever Mimsy and Madeline are.
Maybe they’re trained attack dogs. Who would ever suspect them?
That’s ridiculous.
Or is it?
“I thought about you too,” I admit cautiously. “But I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
His lips tilt. “Why would you? We were strangers. Now we’ve got some time to get to know each other. When we’re done here, we’ll eat and we’ll talk. You can ask me anything.”
That sounds promising and informative. I remember the sweet smells I woke up to and my stomach rumbles in embarrassing agreement. “Do we have time for that kind of Q&A?”
“We have all night,” he reminds me, startling me mid-hunger pang.
“Because we’re snowed in together.” He’s said it. I’ve seen the view out the window. I’ve even been out in that weather. But it isn’t until this moment that the reality of it finally hits me.
This isn’t a work of fiction, this is reality. I’m entirely dependent on this man who has two good ankles, my phone and my clothes. If things go south, I wouldn’t survive outside for long.