Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Crichton!”
Crichton appears smoothly beside me.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you please go and help the young man out of the dungeon and take him to the local hospital. I suspect he has a broken rib.”
Crichton draws in a patient breath. “Yes, sir.”
Nina has been staring at me with those sweet green eyes, sucking in her pink lower lip as I brush my fingers lightly around the cane strike. I have pretended not to notice the way her nipples harden into eager peaks, or the way her stomach draws tighter as if she is squeezing her thighs together.
The appearance of Crichton makes her flush with embarrassment. She thinks she has now been exposed to two strange men; her topless allure lost to us both forever. As Crichton melts away, her gaze turns from apprehensive to accusatory.
“You broke Jonah’s rib?”
“Jonah broke into an area of my home clearly out of bounds.” I gently pull the edges of her cardigan back into place. She will need some ice for her shoulder.
“So you broke his rib?” She is aghast. “Why are you so violent? I thought we were supposed to be the criminal ones. You’re supposed to be a nice, safe, country priest.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, but the last thing I am is nice. Or safe, for that matter. If you stay in your room and do as you are told, you will not come to any harm. If, on the other hand, you insist on throwing yourself into harm’s way and poking your nose into every crevice and corner of my home, you will come to a great deal of harm.”
She narrows her pretty green eyes at me. “You said you allowed us to come here because our mother was a friend. This is not how you should treat the children of a friend.”
“Neither one of you is a child anymore. Both of you should be capable of following simple instructions and respecting locks.”
“I’m going back upstairs,” she says, piqued. She is so defensive of her wastrel of a brother who does not seem to care about her at all.
“Before you do that, I have a salve that will ease the pain and reduce bruising.”
“It’s okay. I don’t…”
Nina
“Stay. Still.”
He growls the words at me with that hyper-dominant tone that makes me obey, though I would much rather get dressed and go back up and hide in my room.
It’s too late for that, though. I should have stayed in the room when I felt Jonah start to freak out, but I never do. I always go and save him, and I’m always the one who gets bit in the ass for doing it too.
I stay on the couch, face down, waiting for Bryn to come back. I watch him recede first, though, and I can’t help but notice the broad shoulders, powerful hips, long athletic legs. This guy is wasted as a priest. More than wasted, he’s misplaced. He should be some kind of a mercenary. Actually, given what I saw downstairs, it is possible that he is. Either a merc or a legit psychopath. Possibly both.
I am now genuinely concerned for my brother and myself. The crazy man with a basement full of weapons has a secret portrait room of my mother and just broke my brother’s rib. This is turning into a nightmare faster than I can keep up with.
He returns, dark and smoldering and undeniably dangerous. I feel the couch dip as he slides onto it next to me and opens a jar of ointment.
“Wow,” I exclaim as the fragrance curls up my nose. “I haven’t smelled that in a long time. My mother used to use that same cream.”
“Did she?” He sounds surprised.
“She had a little jar of it, and it never seemed to run out no matter how many times she used it. I called it her magic lotion.”
“I see,” he says. “It does have what might be considered magical properties.”
He reaches beneath the open side of my cardigan and begins to smear the scent of a happy past over my skin. He is right. It does make me feel better, but not because of the lotion so much as the memories it evokes. I feel instantly safer, as though Mom is here with me, guiding me, looking after me. Telling me without words that everything is going to be okay.
His hands are large and warm. He touches me carefully and gently, which is a pleasant change. I have been spanked, caned, and now caressed by this rough stranger who walks in the mantle of a priest but seems utterly unholy to me. The thoughts chasing through my head as he rubs up along my neck are anything but pure. Every now and then the side of his big palm brushes against and over my breast. Once or twice it even makes contact with the side of my nipple. These are fleeting, accidental contacts and yet they feel like a very deliberate seduction.