Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
That I was made of something thicker than that.
But I couldn’t even handle a motel room without Swiss.
And very soon, I’d have to handle forever. A divorce. A new start. A real one. With my social security card, my nonexistent credit and a divorce that would likely leave me with nothing.
If Preston somehow agreed to divorce. If I somehow managed to keep out of his clutches for as long as the divorce proceedings lasted.
I forced my limbs harder, intent on pushing myself so hard that those thoughts would burn out of me.
I didn’t even register the single headlight that roared past me as I ran; I was focusing on the burn of lactic acid in my lungs. So I didn’t process it turning around on the road behind me. Nor did I hear the roar of the motorcycle. I didn’t notice it until it slowed, pulling off to the shoulder in front of me, blocking my way, turning so the headlight illuminated me. I squinted against the light, lifting my hand to help with the glare.
My gait slowed, and my heart beat painfully against my chest as I watched a dark figure dismount the bike and block out the light with his body.
I immediately knew it was Swiss.
My body relaxed at his presence, at his strong and purposeful gait, though when I saw the expression on his face, I tensed up all over again.
He was pissed. That much was clear. His mouth moved rapidly as he approached me, and I rolled back on my heels just a little.
He stopped right in front of me, putting a very purposeful distance between us, his mouth moving rapidly, hands fisted at his sides.
“What?” I asked, still squinting, music blasting in my ears. I didn’t think to take the buds out of my ears, I was still disorientated and winded from the run. I was struggling to comprehend that Swiss was standing in front of me on the side of the road in the middle of the night.
“What the fuck are you doing running on your own, with headphones on at two in the fucking morning?” Swiss demanded after leaning forward and yanking the earbuds from my ears.
I didn’t flinch back from his angry tone nor his hand flying so close to my face. I knew better than that.
“I’m sorry,” I said immediately.
Fury flickered on his face, giving way to confusion. “Don’t need you to apologize to me, Countess,” he responded tentatively. “Need you to tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here.”
I stared at him, taking in a deep breath. Then another. I was gauging his face. His energy. Gauging my safety in that scenario. Once I was a little more grounded and working off my current knowledge, not off old memories that belonged to a different man, I realized I was safe. I was always safe with Swiss.
With myself, not so much.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted meekly, my tone submissive.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Swiss repeated.
I shook my head slowly.
“You can’t sleep, Kate, you pop a pill.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You take a tequila shot. Or two. You put on trash TV. Most importantly, you call me. You tell me that you’ve got shit swirling in your head so intensely that you’re taking yourself out running in the middle of the night like you’re fleein’ from a fuckin’ murderer.”
He was no longer speaking softly.
“Why in the fuck didn’t you call me?” he demanded.
I frowned at him. Why didn’t I call him? Aside from not wanting to sound pathetic and clingy, I hadn’t even considered it. Of course, I wanted to hear his voice, wanted to know what he was doing, who he was with, if he missed me. But I had no idea of the protocol for such things.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said quietly.
“You didn’t want to bother me?” he repeated.
I shook my head.
“Kate, you’re my fuckin’ woman,” he clipped. “Besides the fact that I was thinking of you the entire fuckin’ time I was gone and hearing your voice would’ve been welcome at any point, you find yourself in a situation like this,” he waved his arm at me, “then you call me. That is not a bother. You are not a bother. Me driving up on this, seeing this... That’s a fuckin’ bother. Now get on the back of my fuckin’ bike.”
I stared at him. The last part was a command, no doubt about it. But I just couldn’t bring myself to obey it. Not when the sweat from the run had dried on my skin, the breeze was picking up and my insides had turned to ice.
Swiss was staring at me harshly, but I stayed rooted in place. Finally, his jaw softened, his stance changing into something less hostile.
“Baby,” he murmured, as if he were talking to an animal that might spook. Which, incidentally, was what I felt like right now. “I’m pissed at you. But only because it gave me the shock of my life seein’ you out here, my mind running through the things that could’ve happened.” He stepped forward, slowly, watching me.