Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Thank you so much,” I said, passing the driver a big tip from the basket that Cam had supplied as well, because people were less likely to talk crap about the psych hospital they’d picked you up from if you’d been good to them, grabbed my bags, and climbed out of the car.
“Miss Coulter. Been wondering where you’d been,” Frank, my doorman, said as he held open the door for me.
“Oh, just a little long-weekend getaway,” I lied, giving him the best smile I could given how crappy I felt.
“You needed it.”
With just a couple more pleasantries, I was finally in my private elevator and heading up to my floor.
I just wanted a shower to scrub off the institution. Then a bath to calm my frazzled nerves. Some real food. A glass of wine. And sleep that wasn’t interrupted by flashlights or some ranting and raving from fellow patients.
As soon as I got in the door, I dropped all my stuff on the floor, so intent on the shower that I couldn’t even be bothered to put them on the table I had just for my bag and packages.
I was so distracted by the thoughts of my shower, in fact, that I missed him until I was a solid five feet into my apartment.
But there he was.
With his back to me, standing there looking out at the city.
“Whoever you are, get out of my apartment before I call the police.”
There was force behind my words. Not because I was feeling particularly strong right then, but because fear made me angry. And every woman knew that a strange, uninvited man in her apartment was absolutely something to be afraid of.
He turned then.
Not quickly.
Not like my threat concerned him at all.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. But the hottest guy I’d ever seen was certainly not it.
He was tall and a compact sort of fit. Something about that body and the way he was holding himself screamed “ex-military” to me. His hair was short and a medium-blond. From across the room, it was impossible to tell what color his eyes were, but I could tell that they were dark.
But, damn, yeah, that bone structure.
God certainly favored him.
“Miss Coulter,” he greeted me in a voice that had no right to be as smooth and sexy as it was coming from the lips of a man in my home without being invited. I mean, there was a little wobbling in my knees at the sound of my name in that voice.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, reaching over toward a table at my side, closing my hand around the only hard object I found there.
Was it a priceless antique statue of a war goddess?
Yes.
But if it was me or the statue, it was going to be me.
Besides, I had a feeling the war goddess would approve of using her to bash the skull in of a trespassing man.
“My name is Brock. I work at Sawyer Investigations.”
“You say that as if it should have some meaning to me. It doesn’t. And you need to get the ever-loving fuck out of my apartment.”
“Ever-loving fuck, huh?” he asked. And, damn him, that boyish smirk of his was really appealing.
It must be easier to be a criminal when you could make your marks blush and flutter with one smile.
“I don’t know if you are dense or what, but let me make this clear. This is a door,” I told him, gesturing toward it. “I want you on the other side of it before I call the police to do it for you.”
“Liking the image of me with handcuffs on, huh, honey?” he asked, smile even warmer as he took a step forward. “Go ahead and put that statue down. It probably costs more than I make in a year.”
“Ten,” I told him, and he just kept smiling at me, his eyes doing a crinkling thing around the edges that was far too appealing.
“If you’ll put that thing down, we can talk.”
“I don’t believe there is anything I wish to discuss with a man trespassing in my apartment.”
“That ice princess thing? It works for you, babe,” he told me as he took another step closer.
My fingers tightened around the statue, but my mind couldn’t help but think it would be a sin to bash in a face as pretty as his.
I was worse than the girls who went into basements in their panties to see where the weird noise came from in horror movies.
“Gee, I’m thrilled to impress a random criminal. Get out.”
Was it my imagination, or were my demands that he leave getting less and less forceful?
No, that was ridiculous.
Of course I wanted him to leave.
“Cam said you were a real ball-buster,” he told me.
And then it all fell into place.
Of course it came back to Cam.