Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 53764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
She should knock. She really should knock on his door and make sure he was okay.
There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell. She turned and fled to the safety of the kitchen.
****
Twenty minutes later, she was taking a stab at normality by sipping a cup of coffee and making a grocery list when Marco walked into the room. His eyes were bloodshot and there was the beginning of a bruise on his right cheekbone. Her eyes flared at the sight. She sat the pen down and swiveled the barstool away from the island where she sat and focused her attention on him.
"Coffee." The one word demand was deep and rough and resonated with animalistic pain.
She stood up warily and poured him a cup of black coffee, the way she knew he wanted it. Moving back toward him, she set it on the island, within his reach.
She went back to her seat, and picked up her pen to camouflage the inappropriate emotions churning in her stomach. But she couldn't focus on the grocery list, knew she wouldn't be able to focus, and was sharply aware of him reaching for the barstool across from her and sitting down on it.
The room seemed to shrink in direct proportion to the nearness of his large body.
He picked up the cup and took several sips without looking anywhere but into his cup.
Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't stand it any longer. "What happened to you?" she questioned softly.
Flinching, he looked in her direction through eyes that were squinted. "You don't need to worry about Tanya any more. She won't be coming here again."
Incredulity spread through Natalie. "I wasn't--worried." She licked her lips and butterflies went wild under her breastbone as she wondered, what exactly, this meant.
"It's a moot point. She's out of my life."
"I'm sorry." She felt completely helpless; she had no idea what to say to him. She was dimly aware she shouldn't be feeling a bubble of euphoria bouncing around in her head. She swallowed and focused on the situation at hand. "What happened to your face?"
He reached up and felt the mark and grimaced in annoyance. "Tanya happened."
Shock hit Natalie between the eyes. "She hit you?"
"Yeah."
"Did--did--"
He narrowed his eyes on her and gave her a disparaging stare. "Did I hit her back? No."
"I'm sorry--I didn't mean--"
"No? Sounded like it." The statement was filled with accusation.
"I'm sorry." Natalie knew she must sound like a broken record, but nothing in her limited experience with him gave her a clue how to act.
"I need aspirin," he groaned as his forehead fell into his hands.
"You need ibuprofen for the swelling," she said softly, standing to get it.
"Aspirin."
She went to the drawer where an assortment of over the counter medications were kept and threw over her shoulder, "Ibuprofen."
"Natalie!" he shouted, his voice filled with retribution.
She spun around to face him, her hand landing on her throat.
"Don't argue with me. I've got a goddamn hangover and I want aspirin, now!" His voice was a thundering snarl, filled with menacing threat.
She stood in shock at his tone, and felt her face drain of all color. Her eyes filled with tears of hurt and repressed anger and she turned back to the drawer to get him what he demanded. She found a bottle of aspirin and popped the lid open with mounting rage.
She stood three feet away from him, and turned back to face him, uncontrollable tears that managed to piss her off even more, making wet paths down her cheeks. She watched him as he looked at her over his coffee cup, no doubt taking in the tears. A black frown came down heavily over his features, as if everything were her fault.
It was too much for her to take.
She threw the open bottle at him with a sweep of her hand and white pills spilled all over the island and all over him. "There's your aspirin, asshole."
Turning away from him and the mess she'd just made, she exited the room without delay, not nearly brave enough to hang around and see how he reacted.
His answering snarl of fury as his chair grated across the floor followed her from the room. Cold, dark panic slammed through her and she knew he was about to chase her across the penthouse.
She didn't stop to think. She just ran. She ran down the hall toward her bedroom, ran inside and slammed the door and locked it as quickly as she could.
He began banging on her door immediately. The vibration of what sounded like his fist hitting the wood above her head where she leaned sent her skittering back and away from the door in silent disbelief. Her heart raced and she froze, staring at the door, rooted to the spot.
"Open the door!" he yelled.
She remained mute and her feet stayed in place while with one hand, she reached out to the poster of the bed to steady herself.