Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Warily, she picked up the envelope, which was postmarked from Boston with no return address. Her parents and other brother still lived there, and every once in a while she received a forwarded piece of mail from her old address, but she instinctively knew this wasn’t one of those.
Her stomach clenched with the kind of anxiety only one person had ever been able to incite inside of her, and the exhilaration of seeing Tripp faded as she forced herself to open the envelope, then unfold the single sheet of paper inside.
Her fingers shook and a chill chased down her spine as she stared at the picture of herself, sketched in black pencil. She immediately recognized the distinct style and characteristics of the drawing as only belonging to one person. Her ex-husband.
Jack was an excellent and talented artist. When she’d first started dating him, he’d drawn her all the time—mostly when she wasn’t aware he was doing so. During their courtship when he’d been so affectionate and attentive, she’d thought it was an incredibly romantic gesture, but now, receiving a sketch of herself was creepy as hell.
Unease twisted in her belly and her throat went dry. There was no note or message attached, but the fact that she’d received this letter without a forwarding address label on the envelope meant Jack knew where she lived. It was a deliberate taunt to make her aware that he knew where to find her, even if they were a few hundred miles apart.
That quickly, old trauma resurfaced, threatening to overwhelm her.
Just a few minutes ago she’d been so happy and excited to see Tripp, and now, poof, all that enthusiasm was gone, replaced by an awful, sickening dread. She was so distracted and rattled by the picture and what it meant that when a firm knock sounded on the door, her entire body jerked in panic and the piece of paper slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor.
Her heart slammed against her chest, beating in double time, terror gripping her until the person on the other side of the door knocked again and she realized that it had to be Tripp.
With extreme caution and trembling legs, she walked to the entryway and looked through the peephole. Relief flooded her entire being when she saw him on the other side. She unbolted the lock and opened the door. Tripp’s sexy smile greeted her, then immediately turned into a concerned frown.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his gaze intense on her face, which probably showed every one of her distraught emotions.
“Nothing,” she forced herself to say while trying to calm her racing heart. “I’m fine.”
She hadn’t been able to conceal the slight tremor in her voice, and Tripp’s eyes darkened with skepticism. “Skye—”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, cutting him off because she was desperate to get out of her apartment, which was now tainted by her ex’s knowledge of her whereabouts. “Let’s grab my bag and go, please. My suitcase is over there by the dinette table.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at that sketch again.
Tripp hesitated for a moment, his worry obvious.
“Please,” she said in a strained, cracked voice.
He looked torn but then finally moved, walking over to her luggage, but when he arrived at the table, he stopped and stared at the open piece of paper laying on the floor, along with the envelope. He picked up both, reading the information printed on the front of the envelope, then looked at the drawing.
As if instinctively knowing the sketch was the reason behind her extreme reaction, he cast his gaze back to her. “Who drew this picture of you?” he asked calmly, which belied the flash of anger in his eyes.
God, this wasn’t how she wanted to start their weekend, bringing Jack front and center—and boy, wouldn’t her narcissistic, asshole of an ex have loved knowing he’d caused so much turmoil when she’d been about to have a fantastic time with another man.
Trip clearly knew she wasn’t okay, and as much as she didn’t want to discuss where that picture had come from, she wasn’t going to lie, either. “It’s from my ex,” she said, and forced herself to sound unaffected. “Somehow he found my address and mailed it here. Clearly, he’s trying to intimidate me, even from Boston.”
Tripp nodded succinctly, as if that’s all he needed to hear to understand her distress and the situation he’d walked into. Jaw clenched, he crushed the piece of paper into his hand and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, probably so she wouldn’t have to return home on Sunday and see it again.
Grabbing the handle of her bag, he rolled it back toward her and slipped his hand into hers, making her instantly feel safe and secure.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, and this time she didn’t argue.