Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growled when he lifted his head. “Strawberries? Where’s the bubblegum?”
She laughed and pushed at his chest until he released her.
“I’m out of bubblegum lip gloss. I thought I’d give the strawberry flavor a try.”
“You taste good no matter what,” he said truthfully, and then allowed his eyes to drift over her neatly dressed body. “And no matter where.”
He grinned when his words elicited a blush.
Predictable—he adored that about her.
The thought made him start, and his eyes widened. He had once thought her predictability would become boring, but he now recognized that he hadn’t once found himself bored with Lia. Not with Lia, nor with her family or the people she knew. And not with the town, which he was starting to explore more now that he was getting better. It was a beautiful place, and the ocean called to him. He wanted to try out the surf as soon as he was stronger.
He liked it here. He hadn’t ever expected to like it here.
“Sam?” Lia snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he shook his head and smiled at her. “Where did you go?”
“Just down the road a way,” he joked.
“I don’t feel like cooking this morning. MJ’s for breakfast?” she suggested, and he frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“A bit of a headache and a bit wheezy. I think I’m getting a cold, that’s all,” she dismissed. Sam looked at her again—she had shadows under her eyes, and despite her immaculate appearance, he could see how tired she was. It was as close to frazzled as he’d ever seen her.
“Why don’t I fix you something?” he offered.
“You can cook?” she asked, surprised.
“Not as well or as prettily as you, but it’s edible. Sound good?” She nodded and trudged to the living room. There was none of the usual crisp pep in her step, and she sank to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Usually Lia would remove them and neatly place them side by side. For her to not even care where they landed was very uncharacteristic.
He watched as she curled up onto her side on the sofa, tucking her hand under her cheek to watch him.
“What are you going to make?” she asked, and, trying to put aside his concern, he forced a smile.
“Eggs and bacon. To expect anything more than that would be to tempt fate.”
“Sounds good.”
She was asleep by the time he finished, and he walked over to the sofa to look at her. He’d seen her sleep before; sometimes she dozed off while he held her after sex. But that was always a restless nap. Nothing this deep or peaceful. She looked young and vulnerable asleep, with her pretty mouth slightly open and her hair obscuring half of her face. Sam absently massaged the center of his chest as he watched her. God, she was so beautiful. He ran the tip of his finger down the smooth curve of her cheek, edging her silky hair behind one pretty ear.
“Lia,” he called softly, going down onto his haunches in front of her so that he wasn’t hulking above her when she woke up. Her brow furrowed, and she sighed. “Come on, sunshine, time for breakfast.”
Her eyes opened without warning and immediately found his. For a split second, in that vulnerable, naked space between sleep and wakefulness, he could see her every emotion. Trust, hope, helplessness, and something that looked uncomfortably close to love. He didn’t know how he recognized these emotions, he just knew with absolute certainty what they were. And it terrified him. If she felt these things for him, she would get hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted.
She blinked and the moment of vulnerability passed, her eyes now only revealing pain and confusion.
“I don’t feel well, Sam,” she whispered, and he felt a flare of panic. She was pale, but an unnatural flush was beginning to form on her cheeks. He dropped a hand to her forehead and the flare developed into a full-blown explosion of absolute terror.
“Jesus, Lia, you’re burning up!” he said, his voice shaking. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
“Felt funny this morning,” she said. “But it’s worse now. I feel . . .” She sat up and clutched a hand to her mouth. She pushed him out of the way and leapt to her feet to run to the guest bathroom downstairs. She barely made it before he heard retching sounds.
Sam shoved his hands through his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp as he tried to calm his anxiety. He followed her into the bathroom and dampened a towel. She wasn’t throwing up anymore but was still hunched over the commode, her slender body trembling violently. Sam gently swept her hair to one side and stroked the cool towel down the nape of her neck.