Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“I don’t care enough about your opinions to be hurt by them,” he told her stiffly.
Iris worried her plump lower lip with her teeth before lifting her shoulders in a minute shrug—hating that she cared enough about his opinion to actually be wounded by that stupid comment.
“Fair enough. I apologize regardless.”
She swallowed painfully, while he stared at her again, a long, scraping regard that made her skin prickle and her nerve endings feel raw. Eventually he nodded—an acceptance of her apology perhaps?—and grasped her elbow in a firm, but loose grip. His hand so cold she could feel it through the thick fabric of the bathrobe.
Iris had to be getting used to his unsolicited touches because she barely reacted to it this time. In fact, she almost liked the proprietary hold. Ugh, maybe she was developing Stockholm syndrome or something.
He marched her back to her room without a word, and once there, he stood in the doorway and watched her for a moment before saying, “I’ll bring you some lunch after I’ve had a shower.”
“Thank you.”
Another long stare and then he stepped back and slammed the door in her face. She held her breath for a few seconds, hoping… until she heard the key turn in the lock. Her breath escaped on a slow, dejected sigh and her shoulders dropped. Deep breaths… she could do this. She’d done it before.
She turned back to stare at her cell. It looked cozy. Spacious. Not prison-like at all, but it was fast becoming the equivalent of a dungeon to Iris. She hated it. Hated not being able to just open the door and leave anytime she wanted to.
She pushed down the panic that threatened to claw its way out of her throat in the form of a scream, and headed straight for the window. She shoved it up and inhaled deeply. So much for that warm bath… the frigid air immediately chilled her again. But she didn’t care. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the ground just a meter below the windowsill. And after a few more deep breaths, stepped back and shut the window again, shivering but better.
She walked to the sofa and picked up her laptop. Maybe she could distract herself from obsessing over that locked door by writing. She also needed to update her journal. When she was a teenager and starting to exhibit her anxiety issues her school counsellor, Mrs. Crowley, had encouraged her to start a journal to keep track of her events—as the woman called them. The idea was to be as detailed as possible in her entries so that they could attempt to identify what specific interactions or incidents triggered her panic attacks.
Iris had found it to be therapeutic and had kept a journal ever since.
TDH still hadn’t given her the Wi-Fi password as promised, but she didn’t need Wi-Fi to write.
“Hey.”
The deep, intrusive voice didn’t register at first as Iris continued to tap industriously away at her keyboard.
“Hey, lady! I brought your lunch.”
Her body jerked in fright and her eyes flew up to stare at the man hovering just inside the doorway. He was clutching yet another tray in his massive paws and had a dish towel slung over one broad shoulder, and…
She blinked a few times as she stared at his face uncomprehendingly. Specifically at the neatly trimmed beard.
It was still too long, but he’d definitely gone through some effort to tidy it up a bit. The bushiness had been somewhat tamed. There was a line of pale skin visible from his throat to the corner of his mouth where the hair didn’t grow. It hadn’t been as noticeable with the longer, bushier beard, but now it was obvious that he had a nasty scar hidden under the scruff. It must be as a result of his accident. Iris did her level best not to stare, but she knew she wasn’t very successful when his jaw tightened and his brow lowered into an almost defensive glower.
His burning eyes bored into hers in unmistakable challenge and Iris pinched her lips between her teeth to refrain from commenting. The scar fueled her curiosity, but the trimmed beard was a surprise as well. Had he cut it because of her earlier comments? It didn’t seem likely. Trystan Abbot surely didn’t give one shit about her opinion. He’d even said as much. Yet… the timing was suspicious.
He put the tray down on the table with enough force to cause the dishes to rattle.
“Thank you,” she said beneath her breath and the swift downward jerk of his head was the only indication that he’d heard her. “Where’s Luna?”
“You’re obsessed with my dog. Cut it out.”
“I like dogs,” she said, rolling her eyes. The man was pricklier, and more ill-tempered, than a rabid porcupine. “And Luna is a friendly face in enemy territory. I appreciate her. I wish you’d let her stay with me for a bit. She’s good company.”