Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Ghost.
He didn’t say another word as he pushed past me and walked into the bathroom, not turning on the light as he did.
Brows furrowing, I hurried past the rest of the doors back to Antarctica, AKA Aaron’s room, and shut the door quietly.
“What’s the rush?” he wanted to know from his position leaning against the headboard.
He looked reserved, like he knew I was about to force him to answer questions that he didn’t want to answer, let alone think about.
“Ran into Ghost on the way out of the bathroom. In only a shirt. With no panties or bra on,” I informed him.
His mouth twitched, bringing my attention to his face.
Aaron’s left side was burned, yes, but his face had fared better than the rest of him. He only had two really obvious scars. One that started around his jaw and cut across his cheek to his mouth, and another that started at his ear and curled around his cheekbone.
He likely had more under his beard, but none that I could see. Not right now, anyway.
His chest was bad. Really bad. Most of his upper arm, side, and pectoral muscle was scarred. Likely, at one time, the scars would’ve inhibited his movements, but knowing Aaron, he would’ve worked on it until he was back to almost perfect—or as perfect as he could make himself, anyway.
I couldn’t inspect his lower half since he had the comforter pulled up over his waist, but I’d felt scars on his hip and left butt cheek.
He was lucky.
Very, very lucky.
“Done?” he snapped.
My eyes found his.
“Is there a time limit on how long it takes you to recover before you’re ready to go again?” I asked him, licking my lips.
I could tell that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting.
He’d thought it would be denial that I’d been studying him.
But denying that would’ve been futile.
Admitting it, however, wasn’t. I was looking at him, and despite the scars, they didn’t take away from his overall beauty.
In fact, the scars made him more beautiful. More him.
The new Aaron. The one not associated with Tawny and the boy she used to date.
“Probably should not do it again until I can get to the store for some condoms,” he murmured, his eyes taking in my body before sweeping back up to my eyes.
I grinned.
“Yeah, that would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
His mouth twitched.
“As a medical professional, I really think we should…”
“I’m clean,” I blurted. “I haven’t had sex since I was sixteen.”
His eyes were intense as he took me in, read the sincerity in his eyes.
“I had to pass about a gazillion tests to get on at the fire department here. Not to mention I haven’t fucked any one since my wife deigned to allow me the use of her body in two thousand and eleven.” His grin was harsh. “Not having sex in years doesn’t protect against babies, though.”
“No,” I agreed. “But birth control does.”
His eyes lit.
“What kind of birth control?” he questioned.
“The kind that makes me cringe every time I take it in the morning,” I told him. “I don’t swallow pills well.”
He snorted.
“Aren’t they about the size of a grain of rice?” he asked.
“More like the size of a dime,” I muttered.
He snorted.
“Gotcha.” He threw the covers off his lower half. “Since we have that all taken care of, why don’t you come retake your seat?”
I laughed and launched myself at him.
Twenty minutes later, his t-shirt back on the floor, and my body still resembling cooked spaghetti, he explained about his wife.
“My wife thought it’d be a grand idea to tell the media every confidential thing I ever told her over our eight-year relationship,” he said into the dark room. “And she was an asshole. I hated her. I hated my life…but I was stuck. I didn’t want to leave her. Not the her that I married. The her that she became after we married, though…she was terrible.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She was bi-polar, I think,” he explained. “There were days that she’d be perfectly fine. Then there were days that I would wake up—only opening my eyes and looking at her from across our pillows—and she’d go off. She hated that I worked at a firehouse that also employed women. Hated that I was a firefighter who worked so many hours—hours that she couldn’t account for my whereabouts. She also disliked the fact that I enjoyed my job and would rather spend my days off with my friends rather than with her.”
“Bipolar disorder can be controlled with medications,” I told him. “Did you ever mention getting help to her?”
He gave me a look, which caused me to hold up my hands.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “But seriously…why’d you stay as long as you did if you weren’t happy?”
He sighed.
“Every time I threatened to go, she’d start crying. Make me feel bad. Threaten to do something bad if those two things didn’t work.” He pursed his lips.