Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
And I stare forward at nothing for a long time. I’ve been kissed into a trance. I move across my shop to sit in the wicker chair in the corner, the pads of my fingers resting on my lips as I stare at the door. I hear his truck start. I hear it pull away. And then . . . silence.
He just kissed me, and then he just left. Seriously, what the fucking hell?
He said nothing.
But everything I needed to hear.
And now I’m left alone with just my screaming thoughts. Stay away from him. Run to him. I know what I want to do, but should I? Can I? I stand up and start to pace my shop, wringing my hands. I stop, feeling my lips, and then my nose. I look at the door. I hear his words.
I don’t ever want to scare you. I’m not scared of him, not like that. I’m scared because he leaves me completely breathless.
Chapter 9
FIVE YEARS AGO
Katrina could hear him showering in the adjoining bathroom from where she was curled up on the bed. She knew he’d be finished soon. She knew he’d return any moment, wondering why she wasn’t up. And she knew he’d be disappointed. Yet her energy was depleted completely after their day travelling to the Bahamas, where their yacht was anchored offshore. She felt sick, and she was certain the seafood they’d eaten for lunch was responsible. With every slight move she made, her tummy twisted, threatening to spill the contents far and wide. She was sweating, too. Bottom line, she felt like death warmed up.
When the sound of the shower spray stopped, she tried in vain to push herself up on the bed, to at least show some willingness to get herself ready for their sunset dinner on deck with friends. But after a few seconds struggling against her uncooperative body, she gave up and flopped back to the mattress on a groan.
‘Why aren’t you ready?’
Katrina looked up to the bathroom door where her husband stood, rubbing at his wet black hair with a towel. His well-honed body seemed to shimmer under the moody lighting of the bedroom on their yacht. ‘I feel terrible.’ Her words were meek, quiet, and loaded with a plea that she knew he could hear.
Jarrad pouted in sympathy and wandered over to the bed, lowering to the edge and reaching for his wife’s forehead. One brush of his palm across her damp flesh confirmed that her body was a furnace. ‘Oh, darling,’ he murmured, reaching for the bottle of Evian on the bedside table. ‘Some water will help.’ Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to her. ‘Here, drink up.’
Forcing herself to sit up with his help, she accepted the bottle with a small smile and brought it to her lips. And the second she swallowed just the tiniest drop, her stomach revolted, and she flew up off the bed, darting to the bathroom. She made it just in time to throw up, emptying her stomach of all the seafood she’d indulged in. ‘Oh God,’ she breathed, feeling blindly for some toilet paper as she dropped to her arse in front of the toilet.
‘Katrina, darling,’ Jarrad whispered with concern as he crouched beside her and rubbed at her back. ‘Get it all up.’
‘I think I need a doctor.’ Drops of sweat poured from her forehead as Jarrad took her arm and pulled her to her feet. He walked her to the mirror and stood behind her, studying her in the reflection as he flipped the tap on and wetted a washcloth.
‘You don’t need a doctor.’ Patting her face with the cool material, he held her firmly in place as he watched himself tend to her. ‘You just need me.’ Dropping a gentle kiss on her shoulder, he smiled across her flesh as he raised his eyes to her in the mirror.
Her lips curved naturally in response. ‘Just you, Jarrad.’
This pleased him. His mouth stretched wider, his happiness genuine. She knew how happy she made her husband. ‘Feel better?’
‘Much, thank you.’ She rested her palm on his forearm where it was wrapped around her stomach. ‘I should get ready. I don’t want to keep our guests waiting.’ The show must go on, no matter how sick she felt, and she felt as sick as a damn dog. But it was all about image. They were the perfect couple.
Jarrad grinned and reached for the hairbrush on the vanity unit, taking it to Katrina’s hair and brushing meticulously through her long, dark waves. She let him do his thing in peace for a few minutes, the silence comfortable. He only stopped when her scalp started to numb with the constant strokes. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured, setting the brush down. ‘I don’t know why you wanted to cut it all off.’