Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
It makes the need to get away from her palpable.
Ideally, before I start noticing even more.
Distractions from work are the last thing I need.
Especially not a sweet young diversion who looks like she’d melt at the slightest touch, vulnerable and completely exposed.
Assuming she wouldn’t be brutally scandalized by me thinking about her that way, that is.
Once she’s settled, I duck inside the café, letting the scent of fresh grounds chase her smell out of my nose.
Vanilla.
Rich vanilla beans with a cinnamon undercurrent. That’s what she smells like, airy and sweet with a subtle bite.
There’s something seriously wrong with me today.
I swear, I don’t normally do this.
A woman collapses on the street with a medical emergency, and my reaction is to want to taste just how breakable she could be.
Maybe I really am my bastard of a father’s son after all. The crows always come to remind me, just like the ones I glimpsed a few minutes ago.
My old man just wore his cruelty on the surface while I bury mine deeper.
Just like I bury it now, under the surface of Officer Friendly as I put in a fresh order for the team and grab a sweetened iced tea for Talia Grey. I slip a little extra—fine, a lot extra—into the tip jar for the mess I left outside. The barista already gave me an awkward look, but I guess I’ve earned my place in Redhaven when I don’t get a snarky comment to go with it.
When I head back out, Miss Grey’s perched in her chair, looking in her compact mirror and wiping at her smudged mascara.
She’s managed to pat her mussed-up hair back into place, though it’s still a little wild.
The look suits her. She’s an ivory candle with a crown of fire.
As I approach the table, she glances up and offers me a worn smile.
“Thanks,” she says as I set the tea down in front of her.
“It’s nothing.” I take the chair across from her, setting the cupholder down and fishing out my own coffee to take a sip. “How are you feeling?”
“Embarrassed, mostly.” Biting her lip, she closes her compact and tucks it into her purse. “I can’t believe I passed out like that in the middle of town.”
“No need to be embarrassed. The crowd was concerned about you.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s still embarrassing, you know? Like if I’m going to collapse into an asthma attack, I’d prefer to do it in the privacy of my own home.” Her lips quirk. “I usually manage them better.”
“This is a regular thing for you?” I ask again, sipping my coffee.
“Not as much lately.” Miss Grey shrugs, glancing away, her fingers tangling in her hair and twining a lock of it slowly. “I was sick all the time when I was little. I could barely get up a flight of stairs without collapsing, and I was always in and out of the hospital. I’ve gotten a lot stronger, though. I’m normally pretty good at controlling my breathing before anything severe hits, but this time…”
She trails off.
She looks so uncomfortable I cock my head, studying the way the light falls over her jawline until it’s almost transparent. Her skin is so fine.
“This time?”
“I was a little off my game today, I guess.” Her eyes fall. She won’t look at me. “I should’ve been able to handle it better.”
I’m not sure how to respond.
It’s not my job to console her, and it would be crossing a professional line to try—just as much as it would be to give in to the urge to reach out and touch her pale skin, watching the color bloom under my fingers when she’s just so delicate.
So frail, and I don’t just mean her body, her lungs.
Even if it must have taken incredible willpower to master her asthma, there’s something about her.
Something that would be so easy to destroy.
Deep down, I can’t decide if I want to shield it or take her in hand and watch her struggle.
Obviously, I can’t do either.
I also can’t seem to look away, and the longer I watch her, the more she fidgets in her chair, darting quick glances at me. Her cheeks are cherry blossoms now.
She snatches her drink, the ice rattling against the plastic cup and the tea sloshing as she fits the straw between her lips, pursing them like a kiss to take a drink.
Damn.
That gleam on her lips steals my glance before I shift back to her wide, questioning eyes before she looks away.
Why are you staring, Officer?
That’s what she’s asking.
I can’t help answering the unspoken question. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss Grey?”
Her shoulders jerk sharply as she sets her cup down. She might as well have said yes.
Her brilliant blue eyes shift to me—but not quite.
My mouth.
Is she staring at my mouth?
Right before her eyes drop back to her drink.