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)
“What happened?”
“Movie’s over,” Trystan said, after a jaw-popping yawn. “Don’t blame you for snoring your way through it, it was godawful.”
“Are you allowed to be that critical? I mean isn’t there some kind of professional code that dictates that you say only nice or noncommittal things about other people’s movies?”
He snort-laughed at that.
“I enjoy watching movies and I have opinions, same as everyone else. But I would never publicly slam a movie. I know how much work goes into making them. But this isn’t a public space and, as such, I’m allowed to voice a private observation without fear that it’ll be spread all over the gossip rags tomorrow.”
Another test? Maybe. Maybe not. It was too exhausting analyzing every little thing he said for potential land mines and snares.
He stretched luxuriously and yawned, another huge yawn that triggered one of her own.
“I’m starving. Want to help me with lunch?” he asked, and Iris—keen to delay the return to her torture chamber—nodded eagerly.
“Yes, please.”
“You any good in a kitchen?” he asked, as he got up and then held out a hand to help her up.
She stared at that big, capable hand for an uncertain moment, before taking it. His fingers closed around hers—strong and familiar—and he waited for her to unfold her legs before giving her a helpful tug up. She yelped and stumbled into his arms when her right ankle buckled.
His arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her.
“You okay?”
“My foot’s asleep,” she moaned, gingerly testing her weight on it before yelping again. “Ugh, pins and needles.”
“That’s the worst,” he murmured into her ear. “Take your time, I’ve got you.”
They stood like that for a few moments, while she gradually placed more weight on her foot as the tingling subsided. He held her comfortably, his arms loose around her waist, his big hands splayed in the small of her back, the tips just resting above the curve of her butt.
They were both wearing sweatpants and hoodies but even with all that fleecy fabric between them, she was still keenly aware of that large hard body pressed so close to hers.
She brought her hands up between them, flattening her palms against his chest.
“I’m okay now,” she whispered, casting her eyes downward, uncomfortable with his piercing stare that seemed to miss nothing.
He held onto her for a beat longer, his hands moving upward to cup her waist.
“Hey, Iris?” His chest vibrated against her hands as he spoke.
“Yes?”
“I really, really hate it when you hide your eyes from me.”
Her brow furrowed at the comment and she lifted her head to stare at him in confusion. He made a deep, rumbling sound of approval when she met his gaze.
“That’s better. I like seeing that defiant spark in them when you’re pissed off with me. When you hide your eyes, I worry that you’re on the verge of tears.”
“Why would you care if I cried? At best I’m an unwelcome guest in your temporary home. At worst I’m an intruder who tried to lie her way into an interview with you.”
“This is a… difficult situation. And I’m trying to be fair. I feel like I’ve found a workable solution for both of us, at least until this can be straightened out. I don’t think that’s so unreasonable.”
It wasn’t unreasonable. Not at all. Iris was the one with the problem and no matter how much she tried to explain it to him, she doubted he’d ever truly grasp how distressing it was for her to be locked in that room.
“You’re not being unreasonable, or unfair. But my phobia isn’t rational. I can’t reason my way out of it. I wish I could.”
His arms fell away from her waist and he stepped back, leaving Iris cold and bereft. She wrapped her own arms around her body in an attempt to keep that dreadful, lonely coldness at bay.
“I don’t know you, Iris. I can’t trust you. You understand that, don’t you? I can’t allow you to roam freely around my space. I can’t afford to be so blindly foolish. You’re asking me to believe that you suffer from a phobia that very opportunely means you can’t stay in a locked room? You see how highly suspicious that is, right? How could you even board a plane to come here in the first place, if that were the case?”
She nearly hadn’t, but a combination of medication, an aisle seat, deep-breathing exercises, as well as the excitement at the prospect of meeting and interviewing Trystan Abbott had helped her fight through her debilitating fear.
About halfway through the flight, when she’d realized that she was well on her way to South Africa and that she hadn’t lost her shit even a little, she’d felt so damned powerful and triumphant and proud. It had been a huge boost to her self-esteem. The flight hadn’t been easy by any means, but once she’d understood that she could do it—that she was doing it—Iris had felt almost invincible.