Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
I wonder if he was telling the truth when he said he was a virgin. I mean, I’ve always heard first times are pretty awful, but the man next to me has been nothing but considerate and caring.
“We are doing that one again,” I say. I definitely want it again with Nash, except without our clothes next time. Just the thought starts another ache between my thighs. I squeeze them together.
Before he can respond, his phone announces that he has a new call from Sheriff Luke. Suddenly, all the warm, gushy feelings that were running through me fade. My blood runs cold. He might just be saying all of this pretty stuff to get what he wants. It wouldn’t be the first time that I heard all the right things from someone only to discover they didn’t mean it.
I roll out of bed, careful to avoid the mess of ceramic and soup on the floor. I’m such a fool. I can’t believe I thought we had something, that I might matter to someone for the first time in my life.
“Laura—” he calls my name.
The phone announces again that the sheriff is on the line.
“Take the call, Nash,” I tell him as I button the shirt I’m wearing. My panties are wet, sticking to my hot skin and reminding me of what I was just doing with this mountain man. Stupid, stupid girl. How could you think anyone would ever want you, would ever love you?
He tells the phone to ignore the call.
I don’t read into it. Of course, he doesn’t want to talk to the sheriff in front of me. He’s still waiting to get rid of me, and I don’t have a right to be upset about that. To distract myself from the ache in my chest, I drop to my knees and pick up the shards of the bowls.
“This meant something to me,” Nash says.
I ignore his words. Pretty promises don’t mean anything. You still end up locked in a closet and wishing like hell you knew how not to say every thought that came into your head. “Stay on the bed until I get this mess cleaned.”
I hiss when a piece of broken ceramic slices my palm.
Nash is beside me in an instant. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“I told you to stay on the bed. You’ll get cut.” I think again of that night I snuck in his cabin just to bandage his hand. There’s something about seeing Nash injured that makes me ache.
“I can’t stay away when you’re hurting,” Nash says softly. “Did you get a sliver in your hand?”
“No, it was a clean cut on my palm,” I answer, thankful for that much. The bleeding is already slowing. “I clot quickly.”
“That’s real good.” He drops my hand. A second later, he’s scooped me into his arms bridal style. It happens so fast that I can barely process it.
“What are you doing?” I demand with a hand on his chest. His very muscular chest. For a second, a flash of what we were doing together in the bed goes through my mind. He felt so firm everywhere. So solid, like I had finally found the rock I could lean on. “Put me down. You’ll get hurt.”
He grunts at my words. “Better me than you. Direct me.”
Something in me warms at his words. He’d rather hurt than let me be in pain. I glance down at the floor, spotting his sock-covered feet. They’re so big. It’s not the only place he’s big. “A half step toward your left.”
He does that and waits for my next instruction. The entire time I can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He’s either scared or he likes having me in his arms as much as I like being in them.
Slowly, I help him navigate the maze of broken shards until we’re in the bathroom together. He sets me on the toilet then searches under the sink for bandages.
“You should have answered the sheriff,” I tell him quietly.
“Didn’t have anything to say to the man.” He pulls out a bandage and sets it down. Then he kneels in front of me and reaches for my wrist. “Might sting some.”
He tenderly cleans the area with a cloth and presses along it, keeping his touch gentle as he goes. “I think you’re right. There are no shards in it.”
I don’t say anything because my hand has blurred. Everything has blurred, and I blink back tears. Why does he have to keep taking care of me? Why can’t he just leave me alone? Because as nice as this is, it’s going to sting like hell when it’s over.
He applies ointment to the cut then places a bandage over my palm. “All better now.”
“All better now,” I repeat, but there’s a hitch in my voice.
“Does it hurt a lot? Is that why you’re crying?” He reaches for my face, swiping a tear away with his thumb. He’s always so sweet to me. Why did I have to start out by trying to steal something from him? Why couldn’t I have just been a normal person and met him like a normal girl?