Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Eventually, she was able to settle herself completely into the water with a blissful sigh. She lay there for a long time, allowing the heat to seep into her bones. Despite her shower last night, this was the first time she felt like she’d truly thawed since arriving here.
It was wonderful.
She hummed quietly to herself as she scooped water up over her arms, shoulders, and neck… allowing herself a moment of peace. Blocking her situation, and the awful man in the other room, out of her mind for a few precious minutes.
Just a few precious minutes, before…
“Hurry the fuck up, will you? I’d like to get warmed up as well.”
She sighed regretfully and shook her head.
“Nobody’s stopping you. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way back to my room.”
Silence. There was a beat of blissful silence, during which Iris allowed herself to relax again.
Then, “If you’re not done in five minutes I’m coming in there and hauling your ass out of that bathtub.”
Of course he was.
Iris clicked her tongue and idly soaped herself before—after way too short a time—she reluctantly rinsed off, got up, and wrapped a towel around her comfortably warm body.
There was an oversized fluffy, white bathrobe hanging from a hook behind the door and—after toweling herself vigorously—Iris dropped the massive plush bath sheet into the laundry hamper and shrugged into the robe.
She threw her shoulders back and lifted her head before pushing the door open and stepping back into the bedroom.
He was waiting for her there. Well, it appeared that he’d left the room long enough to at least divest himself of his own wet clothes. He was now wearing a pair of clingy light gray sweatpants—oh mama—and a form-fitting black T-shirt. He still looked pretty cold though. His hair was wet and she could see the gooseflesh pebbling his skin even with a couple of meters between them.
He was sitting on the edge of the large bed, his gaze trained on her face. His focus so intent, it was a little intimidating.
“You were in there for nearly fifteen minutes,” he grouched.
“I could easily have stayed in there for another fifteen, if you hadn’t been such a time tyrant.”
His beard twitched—what was happening under there? Was he grinding his teeth, chewing the inside of his cheek, clenching his jaw? It was anybody’s guess.
“The beard’s a bit of overkill, no? Is it meant to be a disguise? Not like anybody will find you out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“You did.”
“Thanks to your manager.”
“So you keep saying.”
Iris made a disdainful sound in the back of her throat.
“I’m ready to be escorted back to my prison cell now,” she informed him, with a haughty toss of her damp hair. God, she really wasn’t—the thought of returning to that room made her skin crawl. Her bravado was a total bluff.
“Your Medusa-like curls seem to have multiplied.” The observation was almost wrenched from him, and Iris raised a self-conscious hand to her hair. Usually she had highly controllable, gentle waves, but her hair became a different creature when it got wet and was allowed to dry without any kind of intervention. The waves morphed into crazy spiral curls that sprouted in all directions, without any care or concern for structure and organization.
“It’s not very polite to comment on my physical appearance.”
He lifted an incredulous brow at her criticism. “You literally just commented on mine. Why are you allowed these licenses but not me?”
Iris blinked and then nodded slowly, acknowledging his point.
“You’re right… I’m sorry. I think sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that public figures deserve the same consideration as the rest of the population. I was being a hypocrite.”
He stared at her, his probing gaze alit with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“I mean it,” she insisted, not appreciating his blatant disbelief. Iris took pride in her honesty and rarely said what she didn’t mean. That candor didn’t always work in her favor but she was incapable of dissembling. And this man had accused her of being a liar from the get-go, which was infuriating.
“So, you don’t think the beard is —what’d you call it?— overkill?”
“What?” That was his takeaway from her apology? Seriously, talking to him was like trying to communicate with an alien species. “No, I meant that. I just . . . shouldn’t have said it. My brain-to-mouth filter sometimes malfunctions. I shouldn’t have commented on your appearance. It was rude. I allowed myself to be provoked into saying something that was better left unsaid.”
“So, you’re blaming me for provoking you into speaking your mind? I did no such thing. I have to say, this is an extremely bizarre apology.”
“It’s an honest apology,” she corrected him. “I’m sorry I said what I did about your beard. And that crazy hermit comment I made last night was uncalled for as well. And hurtful.”