Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I don't understand this man at all. Why does he care so much if I'm afraid or not? Why does it matter to him if I'm safe? I'm nothing to him, just someone he needs to get what he wants.
"Tell me you understand, Faith," he murmurs, reaching out to touch me. His fingertips barely graze my forearm before he pulls back, placing his hand on his thigh.
"I understand," I whisper.
He studies me for a moment and then nods. "Then let's get you settled in," he says before popping open his door and hopping out. He jogs around to my side, holding my door open for me while I wrestle with my seatbelt. My hands are healing but are still stiff and sore, which makes using them difficult.
I climb down slowly, trying to avoid rubbing up against him in the process. He's so much bigger than I am, tall and imposing. His powerful frame takes up so much room that I have to squeeze past him. As I do, I feel his breath on the side of my face. His arm grazes mine.
I fight the urge to shiver, though it's not out of fear or cold. I remember what those muscular arms felt like when he had them wrapped around me this morning…what it felt like to fall apart knowing he'd hold me together. As soon as I saw him standing on the other side of the door, I knew everything would be okay. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like nothing could hurt me. I liked it. A little too much, perhaps.
Getting attached to this man is dangerous for a thousand reasons. I don't understand why, but he genuinely cares what happens to me. No one has ever really cared before. I don't want him to get hurt because he cared…and in my life, people who try to help me always get hurt. Nikolai always made sure I suffered for any kindness anyone bestowed upon me. And he made them suffer, too.
I don't want Octavio to be next.
And if I make it out of this alive, when it's time to leave, I don't want to feel like I'm losing something. If I'm not careful, I know that's exactly how leaving him behind will feel. Already, I'm too attached to him. He's on my mind constantly. I think about things I shouldn't, want things that will only lead to heartbreak.
I'm a means to an end for him, but if I'm not careful, he could become my whole world. I can't afford to get close to him. I can't afford to let him in. Leaning on him this morning was a bad idea. I can't let myself do it again.
Staying here is a bad idea for both of us.
I take a couple of steps away from him, wrapping my arms around myself as if that'll stop me from letting him slip beneath my defenses. I have a sinking feeling that it won't, though. He's crumbled too damn many of them already.
"I'll get your stuff," he mutters, slamming the door on the SUV. He quickly gathers my bags from the back and then escorts me to the front door, waving as Agent Gunner pulls out of the driveway and heads out.
There's an alarm panel right inside the door.
"The code is 4374," Octavio says, punching it in on the keypad. "Once the door opens, you have sixty seconds to type it in before it alerts the security company. Opening the back door will trigger it as well."
"Okay," I say, looking around.
His house is a lot bigger than it looks from the outside. It's also decorated in a way that screams of comfort and warmth, not what I expected from hm. The floors are all gleaming hardwood. The tables scattered around the living room are all heavy wood, with a soft gray sectional and matching chairs with teal throw pillows. A teal and gray vintage rug adorns the floor, with matching curtains over the windows. Gorgeous vases and little wooden carvings rest on top of the tables. A large television hangs on one wall, with three guitars displayed on the opposite wall. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. He's so intense and difficult to read. I guess I expected his house to be imposing, too.
"Your house is beautiful," I whisper, looking over at him to find him watching me.
The right side of his lips lifts into a half smirk that makes my heart flutter. It's really not fair how damn beautiful he is. He smiles at me, and my freaking soul quivers in response.
"I'm glad you like it," he murmurs. "I want you to be comfortable here. Come on. I'll show you to your room."
I follow behind him through the living room. He points out the kitchen, which is bright and sunny, and a dining room with a large table. Every room we pass is spotless. When we pass into the hall, I stop to examine photographs hanging all up and down the hallway.