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)
Some emotion I can't read sweeps through his gaze. His lips compress into a thin line and then he nods, the motion brusque and businesslike. "I'm going to pick you up now, conejita," he warns me, moving slowly again…like I'm the frightened rabbit he named me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his hard body.
Without my consent, my body melts into his hold. My head comes to rest against his shoulder, my face in his throat. I breathe him in, his unique earthy scent—like sandalwood and brandy—instantly unraveling tight knots in my stomach. The lingering terror of the nightmare falls away, the last vestiges of fear finally loosening their grip on me. I take a deep, shuddering breath. And then another.
Octavio climbs to his feet, holding me easily.
I reluctantly pull back to peek up at him. He looks fierce again, like a warrior. His jaw is set, his eyes glittering with some powerful emotion I can't name. One that makes me feel like he'd probably tear apart anyone who threatened me with his bare hands. That should probably frighten me, but it doesn't.
"Where are we going?" I ask when he strides across the floor and out into the hall instead of depositing me on the bed like I expected him to do.
"You're sleeping in my room, angel."
"But–"
"No, Faith. You're sleeping in my room," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He quickly crosses the hall, carrying me into his bedroom. The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from a lamp beside the bed. I can see just enough to make out the size of the room—it's huge—and dark-colored furniture. Like the rest of the house, his room is neat and tidy, almost freakishly so. I don't see even a single piece of laundry on the floor. His bed is unmade, standing as proof that he left it in a hurry.
He lays me down in the middle of it and then climbs in beside me. His scent wraps around me, my body relaxing into the soft bed despite the protests bubbling in my stomach. I never knew anyone could smell like safety and peace, but he does.
"I'm not going to let you sleep on the closet floor while nightmares torment you," he says, pulling me into his arms.
My head comes to rest against his chest, and then he yanks his blankets up over me, completely engulfing me in his calming, sexy scent. And despite the little warning bells screaming that this is a bad idea, I curl up against him, unable to resist. I'm so tired, and he's so warm. His heart beats a steady, comforting rhythm beneath my ear.
"I'll watch over you while you sleep."
My eyes flutter, his soft growl lulling me to the edge of sleep.
He brushes my hair away from my face. "Sleep, little bunny," he croons. The words make his chest vibrate against the side of my face. "I've got you, and I won't let anything hurt you."
I think I feel his lips against my crown, and then he begins to hum.
My eyes flutter again and then close.
For the first time in days, I sleep without fear.
Chapter Seven
Octavio
"Ineed a favor," I tell Eric Franklin—my captain—early the next morning, pacing back and forth across the living room while I wait for Faith to get ready to go next door to meet Mila and Luke.
"Octavio?" Franklin asks like he isn't sure who he's talking to even though I know he does.
My eyes narrow at his shocked tone. I'm not the kind of person who asks for favors often. Most things, I prefer to take care of myself. I find that tasks get done properly if I do them myself. Maybe that makes me a controlling bastard, but it is what it is. I'd do this myself if I could, but I'm already up to my ears in things to do. I'd appreciate him not being a dick about it.
"What do you need, son?" he asks, sobering when I don't say anything.
"I need you to get me anything you can find on Faith Donovan's parents."
"What do you have on them so far?"
"Not much," I admit, casting a quick glance toward the hall to make sure she's still out of earshot and then dropping my voice to a soft murmur anyway. "Her mother was an alcoholic by the name of Carmen. She's approximately forty to forty-five years of age, of Puerto Rican and Eastern European descent, likely Russian."
"Her father?"
"His first name was Theo. Possibly biracial. He died fifteen years ago."
"Were they married?"
"Not as far as Faith knows."
"Is Donovan his last name or hers?"
"Faith says it’s hers, but she doesn’t know if it’s legitimate," I admit ruefully. "It could be an alias. Faith doesn't know her father's last name."
Captain Franklin is quiet for a moment like he's writing all this down. "Do we know if her mother was born here or if she immigrated?"