Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
True to my word, I behave, not wanting anything to interrupt what is most likely the first true pleasure she’s had in hours if not days. I don’t like the idea of her getting her stitches wet, but the river is as clean as any body of water I’ve seen before, and I’ll make a point of flushing out the wound when we get back to the house. She deserves a momentary break from the nightmare she just experienced. I have to admit that if it wasn’t for the fact that I have a gun on my hip watching over my woman as she swims—
My woman.
I shake away the thought as quickly as it came.
The light that is capable of penetrating the thick canopy above us is fading and I know it’s time to go. Pushing to my feet, I walk to the water’s edge, smiling as I watch Rowan floating on her back, her body cradled by the water. Her hair floats on the surface, the color turned a deep gold, and I feel the urge to comb through the tresses. Not wishing to startle her, I softly call, “We should probably head back.”
Her body sinks until she finds her feet and then she stands, droplets of water sliding down a body that I so wish was being caressed by my fingers instead. Though she’s worn her underwear into the water, the cloth doesn’t hide much. Her panties can’t conceal the thin, dark thatch of her pubic hair or the cleft of her ass when she twists away to pull her hair over her shoulder so that she can wring out the water. I can see the fullness of her breasts and the shadows of her nipples beneath the wet fabric of her bra. But what truly holds my eyes is the seductive smile she has painted on her face. My cock is once more stiffening inside my jeans, and I have to bite back the compelling urge to reach out, pull her close, and claim what I want to be mine.
By the time she walks to the bank, I’ve gotten myself under control and pick up her t-shirt, holding it so that she can duck her head into the opening. She tugs on her jeans, the task made difficult with her wet skin.
“Next time we’ll bring a towel,” I say as she returns to the log to put on her socks and shoes.
When she stands, turns, and then bends over the log, I almost groan watching her backside lift, the denim of her jeans stretching across her firm ass that I suddenly want to spank over and over again until she cries out my name.
“Ready?” she asks. “I’m starving.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ. This woman has no idea just how hungry I am.
Chapter Twelve
ROWAN
My attacker is there in a second, straddling my body as he stoops down, yanking my head off the floor by my long hair. His breath smells like stale cigarettes and booze as he warns, “You better shut up, bitch. And stop pretending you don’t want it.” Spittle flies from his mouth as he adds, “You’re a fucking cock tease, and tonight you’re gonna get what you have coming to you.”
I feel the knife plunge into his stomach as he falls on top of me. The handle is still sticking out of him and slams into me so hard I cry out in pain as his entire body blankets me with his heavy weight.
We’re back in a wrestling match, both injured, both fighting for our lives. I’m finally able to roll him off of me, but it backfires as he now has the space he needs to pull the knife out of his body.
“Rowan… wake up, baby. You’re having a nightmare.” The gentle words break into the brutal nightmare.
My heart is pounding hard as I try to make sense of what’s happening. I was so sure I’d been back in my suite at The Whitney. It had felt so real that when I put my hands to my face, I feel my tears again, just like I had that night.
Slowly, reality seeps in bringing both relief and dread. Relief that I’m alive—dread because I know it was way more than a nightmare that had woken me up trembling.
It was a memory. A shitty souvenir of one of the worst nights of my life. I suspect it will pay me a visit often in the future, that is if I live long enough.
Z moves closer, using the clean sheet we’d brought from Jasper’s house to pat at the tears on my face.
“You’re safe. It was just a bad dream,” he says softly.
“It isn’t a nightmare. I can wake up from those. This isn’t going to stop, even when I’m awake,” I whisper into the darkness, fighting back more tears.