Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“Sorry.”
I’d offer a more heartfelt apology if I had more than a minute to race to the bus stop half a block down. I can’t miss this trip. It hasn’t been in the works for months, but the instant it was brought up, I promised Zoya I’d be her plus-one.
The briskness of the evening air flapping my jacket out should be the first indicator of the slippery conditions I’ve merged into, but my brain doesn’t register that the ground is icy until my stilettos lose traction with the slush-covered concrete.
I skid for several feet before I crash into a wall of hardness. The soles of my pumps are worn from hours of rounds. There’s barely any tread left. So even with my skid ending, I still flap and wail like a chicken released from a coop when my feet continue to slip out from beneath me.
I’m saved from landing on my ass with a thud by digging my nails into the arm of the spicy-scented man keeping me upright. It is a cruel clutch that has me wishing I hadn’t placed myself first.
“I’m so sorry…” The rest of my apology traps in my throat when I raise my eyes to my savior. His murky, almost black eyes are familiar, and just like every time I’ve caught their attention, they set my heart racing. “Maksim…” Like a freight train crashing, worry smacks into me hard and fast. “Is your mother okay? I tried to caution her to slow down, but she doesn’t seem the type to—”
“Listen? Act her age? Continually change her mind on a whim?” He smirks at me, and it has me as giddy as a teen girl meeting her idol. “If it is the latter, you may need to reevaluate your belief.”
While smiling at the mirth in his tone, I correct my footing before placing a smidge of distance between us. Not a lot. Just enough to breathe without my erect nipples grazing his arm. “I was going to say she doesn’t seem like the type to take unwanted medical advice. But if you need to vent, I’ve been told I’m a skilled listener.”
His smirk turns into a smile. “Thank you for the offer, but there isn’t enough time in the world to work through all my kinks.”
With so much attraction firing in the air, my reply literally kills me. “I’d love to prove otherwise, but unfortunately, I can’t. My bus”—my heart sinks when my eyes shoot down the street—“is leaving without me.”
Shit.
It’s the last bus to the downtown district. If I don’t catch it, I won’t be able to keep my promise to Zoya. That’ll be worse than the corny lines I just tossed out. I’ve never been good at flirting, and tonight’s attempt proves it is still a skill I lack.
The blows keep coming when I dig my cell phone out of my pocket to see if I can rummage up enough funds from an overdrawn credit card to pay an Uber fare.
I can’t even order an Uber since my phone’s battery is flat.
Double shit.
“Come with me.”
Not waiting for me to reply, Maksim removes my carry-on bag from my grasp, flattens his spare hand on my lower back, and then guides me toward a foreign-plated car that is gaining nearly as many admiring stares as his animalistic walk.
He moves with such purpose, and before a single thought can conjure in my tired head, I’m seated in the back seat of the flashy ride next to him, and he instructs his driver to go.
As the driver finds an opening, I swallow to relieve my parched throat. The heat is at a nice setting, but it is impossible to sit next to a man with such pulse-setting good looks and not feel thirsty.
Maksim must also feel the heat. Two miles from the hospital, he adjusts the sleeves of the business suit he’s now wearing minus the jacket. He only tugs them up an inch, but it exposes what I feared.
I was the only one saved from injury when he sheltered me from the icy ground.
My nails pierced into his wrists so brutally I punctured his skin.
“I’m so sorry—”
When Maksim’s growl cuts off my apology, I use actions instead of words to express my sorrow. I dig a strip of Band-Aids and the sterile wipes I had planned to use on the bus out of my oversize purse before scooting to his half of the cab.
His scent is more pungent now, almost like he undertook strenuous activities during our time apart. It has my insides jittering like I’m submerged in below-freezing waters, but I act like the professional I’m meant to be. I wipe over the nail-width indents with the equivalent of a sterilized baby wipe before covering them with Band-Aids.
“At least they’re not the Hello Kitty ones I’ve been using all week,” I say when Maksim grunts about the superhero-themed Band-Aid I place on the angry red indents on his wrist. “They were pink and highly emasculating. The perfect accessory for the little princess warrior I took care of today.”