Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I picture Holly’s legs spread out on my sheets, her head resting on my pillow.
I clear my throat. “Don’t worry about it.”
She yawns, and it’s gotta be the most adorable thing I’ve seen in a long time. Like a kitten’s head slowly drooping into its food bowl as it drifts off. She shakes herself awake, but she’s clearly exhausted.
“Um,” she says, “thank you again for letting me crash here. I don’t think I could sleep at the motel knowing that guy’s out there looking for me.”
I don’t tell her I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing she’s out there being hunted either. Not that I get much sleep these days to begin with.
I can’t shake the feeling I had that first time we met. The feeling that she’s the key to something bigger. On top of that, I still can’t look at her face without wanting to taste her lips. And don’t even get me started on those perfect tits.
Forcing myself to look at anything that isn’t attached to her is a difficult task in an otherwise sparse room. In theory, my apartment should be the safest place for her. But part of keeping Holly safe means protecting her from my own personal demons, which are currently drawn to her innocence like a fine single-malt scotch.
Meeting at a sex party may have blurred the lines between us, but I’m still a cop, and she’s a trafficking victim with a missing friend. I have zero fucking business lusting after this angel. I should be content with helping her, not thinking about helping her into her pajamas before I tell her to open her mouth for my cock.
“Clean towels are in the hall closet,” I say to the wall. “Feel free to shower while I make a grocery run.”
When I give myself permission to glance in her direction, she’s already fast asleep, curled up on her side above the blankets.
She looks even more vulnerable with her eyes closed and her hands tucked under her chin. But I know beneath that baby-soft exterior beats a diamond heart, rare and brilliant. Exhaustion brought her to her knees, but once she rises again, she’ll shine like the sun. Because she’s a survivor. And it’s up to me to make sure she doesn’t burn herself out in the search for her best friend.
I approach the bed slowly, drawn toward Holly’s sleeping form by an invisible, unyielding force.
My gaze sweeps from the top of her head to the soles of her shoes, which look like they’re about three steps away from falling apart. I cradle her ankle and slide her left sneaker off, then do the same with the other shoe. I peel off her socks. Her feet are pink and covered in blisters, no doubt from last night’s poorly fitted heels. Her housekeeping uniform is a light cream color, and I can easily make out her dark-colored bra and underwear through the cheap fabric.
Before I can stop myself, I’m imagining what lies hidden beneath her clothes. Both the parts of her I’m familiar with, and those I’ve only dared to wonder about.
My feelings for Holly are a ball of tangled fishing line that I can’t separate. The need to protect woven into the urge to comfort, looped around the desire to claim.
My dick is hard. I can barely think straight keeping track of all the things I want to do to this girl.
I rest Holly’s foot on the bed and drag myself out of the bedroom. I can’t afford to get distracted for even a second, for the sake of the case as well as Holly’s welfare. No matter how you slice it, she’s far too young and sweet for the things I long to do to her. Too pure and perfect for the filthy words I’d whisper in her ear.
Right now, my priorities have to be protecting Holly, finding McKenzie, and solving this case—in that order. There isn't room for anything else, and that's usually how I like it.
The only way to keep my inner demons weak is to starve them. And I’d starve myself to death before I let anything bad happen to this girl.
Chapter Eleven
Caleb
I give Abby a call in the truck on my way to pick up groceries. As soon as she answers, the first words out of my mouth are, “There’s another girl missing.”
“What?” she says, around a bite of something from the sounds of it. “Who?”
“A girl who attended King’s party last night never made it home. Her name’s McKenzie Sommers.”
“Um, Cal... I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re on leave at the moment.”
“Are you at the station?” I ask.
There’s a soft crinkly sound, like she’s wiping her mouth with a napkin. “No, I’m getting lunch at that sandwich shop you hate. Who’s McKenzie Sommers? Where’d you even hear about her?”