Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“James,” I cry out, a choked sound. “Is he okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ottar says. “Please come with me. That’s an order.”
I’ve never had Ottar order me around before, and the gravity in his voice makes me listen. Lady Jane then swoops in and takes Bjorn and Tor, who are bawling uncontrollably, absolutely terrified.
We’re quickly shuffled away into the car, doors locked and guarded, waiting for the news about James and the attacker. Eventually Bjorn and Tor calm down a little, thanks to Lady Jane trying to tell them a story. I’m absolutely useless until I know what has happened to James. If he was stabbed, if he was hurt in any way, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’m suddenly filled with remorse over not having told him my true feelings earlier.
Finally, I see Einar, with Magnus and Ella behind him, walking toward the car, and behind them I see James.
He looks the same as before, his jacket a little rumpled, but no signs of blood or injury. The only difference is the hard set of his jaw and the flexing of a hand at his side, no doubt a product of all the adrenaline that’s running through him.
I exhale audibly, relief flooding my body as the doors open and Magnus and Ella enter the car, reuniting tearfully with the boys and fawning over me. Magnus tells me the man was part of an extremist group and that he meant to kidnap one of the boys in protest of Ella’s environmental initiative. James was able to disarm him without incident, and the man is now in police custody.
But though no physical harm came to James, it’s when he climbs into the front seat and slides his sunglasses off that I see how affected he is. It’s in the way his eyes meet mine and how the man I see staring back at me is full of nothing but fear.
Twenty
LAILA
I can’t sleep. Despite going to bed early after such a traumatizing and exhausting day, I’m lying in bed and going over every single thing that happened, replaying it in my mind like a movie. But instead of just dwelling on the events like a normal person, my mind is creating new events that never even happened.
What if I hadn’t put Bjorn behind me in time? What if he had gotten stabbed?
What if James hadn’t been fast enough or there was another attacker?
What if the attacker ended up stabbing James fatally?
What if I lost him before I had a chance to tell him I love him?
It does me no good to entertain the what-ifs, yet I can’t get my mind to stop. After we got back to the estate, everyone was on edge and wired, and I never got a chance to talk to James afterward, never got a chance to thank him for saving my life, and now I crave his company, his body, like a balm on a wound.
It’s much later, past midnight, when I finally hear James getting into his bed, the headboard knocking slightly against the wall. He’s been good at trying to be quiet lately and probably doesn’t realize I’m still awake.
“James?” I whisper toward the wall.
His throat clears. “Yes?” he asks, sounding surprised.
I press my lips together for a moment, scared. Then I whisper, “Can you come over here?”
A pause. “Yes.”
I hear the bed move again, then his door quietly open, the creak of the hardwood floors outside the room, and then the door to my room opens. A crack of light from the hall shows his tall silhouette, then the door closes.
I reach over and flick on the light at my bedside.
He’s wearing only thin pajama pants, the dim light casting flattering shadows on his muscles. He stops at the side of the bed and stares down at me, searching my face, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
I sit up, staring down at my hands, so damn scared. I don’t want to tell him how I’m feeling, but at the same time I need to know how he feels. If it’s even possible for him to fall in love with me. I’ll hang everything on just the possibility.
“I don’t feel like being alone tonight,” I manage to say. “Not after what happened.”
“Sure,” he says softly.
I stare up at him, a strand of hair coming across my eyes, and he reaches out and brushes it away. “You saved my life,” I whisper.
He swallows audibly, pain brimming in his eyes, that same pain I saw in the car afterward. Something about this pain scares me. “It’s my job,” he says, his voice strained.
“I know, but—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says roughly. “Please.”
I understand that. I nod. “Okay.”
Then he gets on top of the bed, prowling over me, his knees bracketing me in.
I lean back against the pillow and the headboard as he braces himself up with one hand, the other cupping my cheek. He kisses me, his tongue sliding across my lower lip, taking his time.