Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“How’d you know there was a doctor here?”
“Izzy,” his deep tone warns.
“Sandy,” I intone, imitating his tone.
“I spoke to your friend as soon as I got her message,” he mutters gruffly.
With the sheet clamped under my armpits, I set my hands over his. “Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Nothing happened.” Nothing I want to speak about, at least, even without having a man stashed under the bed. I’m not even sure why I shoved him there. Except I’m naked. And because I like his face the way it is. Surely one shock a day is enough for any overprotective brother to endure.
Also, my sex life has nothing to do with him.
“I wouldn’t say that’s true.” Sandy’s fair brows furrow deeper. “You were drugged, and I wasn’t here to protect you.”
“That’s not your job. Where were you, by the way?” My nose wrinkles as I lower my hands. “On second thought, I don’t think I want to know. You smell like a brothel.” It’s now afternoon, and he’s still dressed, sort of, in his evening suit, and his cheeks bear a thick stubble. Does that mean I might smell of sex, too? Tugging on his hand, I encourage him to sit next to me, hoping I don’t.
“Well, it was no one you know,” he says with a sly smile.
“I’m glad to hear it.” A long time ago, when we were sixteen, to be exact, we swore off dating the other’s friends after he slept with one of my friends and made my life very awkward for a time. We move in different circles now. Odd that he’d bring it up now. “How come you were here last night, anyway? And what are you doing in this old room?” He glances distastefully around the space.
“Long story.” I sigh. “And I am fine.”
“You’re sure?” He sends me the patented Dalforth gimlet glare.
“Yes.” I roll my own eyes for effect.
Pressing his hands to his thighs, he jumps to his feet. “Your friend said someone was with you,” he says, this time glancing around the room as though his will could summon them. Hopefully not. “That someone was looking after you.”
“There was, but I asked Tamsin to pop home and grab a change of clothes for me.” We won’t mention the man under the bed who provided a different kind of comfort.
“It was Tamsin I spoke with.”
“There you go, then,” I answer wearily.
“But she made it sound like—oh, fuck it! I’m so sorry. I suppose I’m just feeling a little useless here.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly, Sandy.”
“Right.” He stares at me as though gauging veracity. “I’ll just go and shower.” He presses a perfunctory kiss to my head before turning for the door. “Stay right where you are.”
“Urgh!” I pull the sheet over my head as though dead.
“I mean it, Isla,” he mutters fiercely, turning on his heel. “Stay right here. I’ll take you home. No driving and no bloody cabs.”
“I’m not likely to run home in my underwear,” I mutter from under the sheet.
“Good. Because I might need your help digging a Giles-sized hole.”
I yank it down to my chin. “Don’t do anything rash, Sandy.”
“I won’t do anything he doesn’t deserve,” he growls, and then he’s gone.
“He won’t find him.”
I turn to Niko’s voice, finding him climbing back onto the bed. I expect he’s right unless Giles is really, really dense.
“This isn’t what it looks like, by the way,” I say as he perches himself on the edge of the bed. I don’t owe him an explanation, but I also don’t want him to think I regularly have overbearing and possessive men running in and out of my room. As much as Niko annoys me, I’d really like to see him again. That orgasm was—
“What do you think it looked like? Because, to me, it looks like you’re the twin sister of my best friend.”
8
Van
“Hello, Niko.” The blonde on the doorstep smiles up at me saucily, her hands tightening on the handle of a purse large enough to carry a decapitated head. She’s wearing jeans. Again. Pale blue this time, loafers, and a long cardigan. “Or should I call you Van?” She pulls a wind-whipped strand of honey hair from her pink cheek, her expression expectant.
“Either,” I reply belatedly. Idiotically. “Whichever you’d prefer.”
Her appearance is … unexpected, given the conversation we’d had last weekend after I’d come close to fucking her. Fucking my best friend’s sister. The only reason I hadn’t was I’d told myself I was saving myself for the whole meal. But now part of me wishes I hadn’t stopped at a snack, while the other part of me curses my luck for ever being in that room in the first place. Not out of loyalty but pure selfishness. If I hadn’t tasted her skin, felt her heat, and watched her come apart under me, I wouldn’t be salivating at my front door, wondering if one more taste would be worth the price of losing a good friend. Possibly a couple of teeth.