Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Back in the bedroom, I turn my attention to her bed. It’s pushed to the wall directly beneath one of the windows. I go to it and there, beneath a heavy duvet, is the sleeping form of Madelena, her back to me, with hair longer than I remember spilling across the white pillow.
I watch her. I just stand there for a long, long minute watching.
Why did I come? Why here? Why to her?
She makes a sound. I wonder if she can feel my presence, feel my eyes on her. She shifts from her side to her back as I hold my breath. Did I wake her?
No, she stills, and I draw the blanket up to cover her bare shoulder, taking a moment to run the back of my hand over the soft, pale skin of it.
As if she feels the tickle of my touch, she stretches her arm out and turns her head toward me. She doesn’t normally wear jewelry. I noticed that before too. Nothing. Not even to her prom or to the formal charity event.
Her arm is slender, the muscle of her bicep lean, her narrow wrist so small I’m sure if I wrapped my thumb and pinky finger around it, they’d overlap. Her fingers are long, her hand delicate. The bitten-down nails are painted black but have chipped badly.
I give myself one more minute to look at her face while it’s relaxed, while she’s relaxed. Then I clear my throat.
She startles, eyelids flying open, and bolts upright with a gasp. Big honey-colored eyes stare back at me as her hands clutch the duvet and she presses her back against the wall. “What the—”
“Shh,” I say, putting a finger lightly to her lips. “We don’t want to wake your neighbor.”
She stares up at me, and I see realization dawning as a cloud drifts from the moon and its light shines in from the window. A furrow forms between her brows, but she relaxes a little too, beginning to look more curious than scared. She surveys the room as if expecting to find others, then looks down at herself. I follow her gaze. She’s wearing a light pink tank top. It’s the first time I’m seeing her in something other than black, and I like it. I like her in color.
But then my gaze shifts to the pebbled nipples of her breasts, and my mind moves in a different direction. As if sensing this, she draws the duvet up to cover herself and shudders.
I clear my throat, walk to the window, and close it. When I turn back to her, she’s reaching to the foot of the bed where the ugliest green cardigan I’ve ever seen is draped over the footboard. She straightens, draws back against the wall when I pick up the sweater and hand it to her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks, taking it, slipping it on and buttoning just the top two buttons. Her gaze moves the clock on the bedside table. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Do you always wake up angry?”
“Only when I wake up to strange men lurking over my bed.”
“Well, I hope I’m the only man who’s lurked over your bed. If not, I’ll have to talk with the sisters.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, pushing the duvet back. She’s wearing short shorts. I wonder if she’s aware just how much of an eyeful she’s giving me as she reaches to switch on the lamp on the nightstand. She looks up at me, and I clear my throat for having been caught looking. “You’ve made sure not a single man came near me for the last four years.” She gets out of the bed and crosses to the dresser while I lean against the wall and watch her slender legs, the curve of her ass.
“I beg to differ,” I say, distracted. “On several occasions, I’ve had to rescue you from various men. Just think what would have happened if I hadn’t been there.”
She glances back, rolls her eyes, and opens a drawer, which promptly gets stuck. She tugs, cursing. I fold my arms and grin because she really has no idea how appealing she is to me right now, all damsel in distress.
It’s not that I have a thing for damsels in distress. Just her.
She tries the drawer again, but it doesn’t budge. She gives up, bends to open the bottom one, giving me an excellent view of her ass as the shorts ride up. I adjust myself. On her way up, she hits the back of her head on the bottom of the stuck drawer and curses again.
I chuckle, and she turns to glare at me. She flips me off and walks into the bathroom, where she slams the door.
I put the stuck drawer back into place while she’s gone, and a moment later, she reappears wearing a pair of sweats. The green sweater is buttoned all the way and her hair is brushed.