Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Sabrina was devastated when she found out the extent of my injuries, but more so with my decision to return home. One night while she was visiting me in the hospital, yet again, trying to make me change my mind. She told me she understood my choices. She could see I was still very much in love with Martinez. She wanted me to be happy, to find my peace. This was my chance at it. The motorcycle accident ended one chapter of my life, to allow another to begin. With him. It didn’t matter how many times I told her I was leaving England because I didn’t want to be a burden to her. She never believed me.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing did anymore.
I was so depressed, struggling on a daily basis to keep going. Losing my desire for it all. I lost my career, my boyfriend, and my whole entire life, in a matter of seconds. Everything I held so dear to my heart had been ripped away from me. Dancing was all I ever had, and now that was gone, too. I had no reason to go on, not one.
Every surgery I had undergone in the last six months, felt like just another setback to moving on with the rest of my life. Or whatever the hell was left of it. At least I could finally walk, somewhat. The crutches hurt my arms, but I didn’t need Martinez’s help as much when I used them. Which gave me the space to be by myself, without him always hovering over me. I had a wheelchair to get around in, but it required me to ask him for help getting in and out of it from wherever I was laying or sitting. Despite how many times I told him just to help me and leave, he would just ignore me. Carrying me all around his penthouse, foregoing the chair. I had to try like hell to disregard how his masculine scent still had an effect on me.
The son of a bitch was handsome as fucking ever. Often catching myself staring up at his strong jaw as he carried me from room to room. I couldn’t believe how he just got better looking with age. As if he was a fine wine. One day I managed to get myself in the chair to stroll along the penthouse, needing to get out of my room. Never going toward my ballet studio, scared it wasn’t there anymore, but even more terrified if it was.
I passed by the room Martinez turned into his gym. He was working out all his frustrations without a shirt on. His gym shorts hanging low around his slim waist, showing off the fuck-me muscles, proudly on display. He was even broader, more muscular and well-built than I remembered. Sweat dripping off his chest, accentuating all the toned muscles of his defined, sculpted body. I watched for a few minutes then moved right along, needing to head back to my bedroom. Clutching the cross hanging from his necklace that I had yet to take off. The last thing I wanted was to be caught ogling him.
As I made my way past his bedroom, I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory from when we flew back home, a few weeks after I was medically released from the hospital. Remembering how he actually tried to take me into his room, saying it would be easier if I slept in there. How he could hear me and get to me faster if I needed anything. I laughed sardonically and simply reminded him I didn’t need to be his whore anymore. I’m sure he still had plenty of those in his life. He didn’t say one word after that, swiftly taking me to my old room instead.
“Lexi, get the fuck out of bed. Get dressed,” he ordered, walking into my room. Uninvited, like always. Forcefully opening my curtains, burning me with the light.
Oh… and I had Martinez on my ass twenty-four seven. Trying to breathe life back into me. Trust me, I’d already laughed plenty at the thought.
“I’m tired,” I simply stated. “And open your eyes old man, I’m already dressed.” I took my pillow and placed it over my face, welcoming the darkness once again.
“It’s noon. You did this yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Should I keep going, princess?”
“No, but I know you will,” I murmured through the pillow.
“Really cute. You’ve been doing this for the last six fucking months,” he reminded.
“And there it is.” I threw the blanket over my head. “Who cares?! What do I have to get up for? Nothing! I can’t dance, I can’t fend for myself, I can barely fucking walk!”
“You have crutches. You need to—”
“Don’t tell me what I need! I’ll tell you. I need you to get the fuck out of my room! Get off my ass! You’re not my savior, Martinez! I don’t even fucking like you! Now leave because you won’t like me when I’m really angry!”