Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m a . . . a grown woman . . . I don’t need to put up with this.”
She moved toward the house and slid sideways. Leaping to her, he grabbed her and lifted her into his arms.
Something was wrong.
He needed to get her inside.
“Jose, here, take the key and go unlock the door and turn the lights on.” He shifted her weight so he could grab the key to her place from his pocket.
“You got it, boss,” Jose replied, taking the key.
“Hey, Jose! S-sorry I wouldn’t let you give m-me a ride all those other times. I wanted to. But you can’t give in to Dracula or he sucks your blood. My blood doesn’t taste very nice, you evil, soulless bastard.”
Dear Lord.
“Your high opinion of me is astounding,” he said dryly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dracula. Of course I don’t have a high opinion of you. You’re a meanie. A meanie-bo-beanie. Wait, have you been smoking?”
She glared up at him accusingly.
“Yes.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Naughty. Smoking is very, very bad. You shouldn’t do it. It’s not good for your health. Understand?”
“Is that so?”
“It is so. You should give it up. Right now.”
“All right.”
“All right?” she asked. “It isn’t that easy. You can’t just say you’ll quit and do it.”
“I don’t smoke much. I gave it up before, I can do it again. For you.”
He walked into the house and through to the living room, where he laid her on the couch. She stared up at him with glassy eyes. There were red patches on her cheeks.
She wasn’t drunk at all. She was ill.
Placing his hand over her forehead, he nearly snatching it back when her skin sizzled against his.
“How long have you been running a fever?”
“I don’t know,” she grumbled as she rolled onto her side, glaring at him. “Go away. I don’t like you. Even if you stop smoking.”
Ouch.
That hurt more than it should have. But he pushed that away for the moment. He wasn’t the one who was burning up and delirious.
“Jose?” he called out.
“Yes, boss?” Jose asked.
“Call Doctor Stanley. Tell him she’s got a high temperature and that I want him here now.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to take her upstairs.”
“Nooo,” she grumbled as he once again picked her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. “I don’t want to get out of bed, Mama. I’m sick. I don’t care that Daddy will be mad. Let me stay in bed. Please.”
God. She was killing him here. Had her father made her get out of bed when she was ill?
Fucking monster.
“Hush, baby,” he crooned. “I’m just taking you to bed.”
“You are?” she said in an awed voice.
“Yes. I’m going to strip you off and put you to bed. Won’t that be nice?”
“Nice? Nice! I don’t want nice. I want mind-blowing. I want incredible, stupendous, amazing! Don’t ruin it for me and tell me that you’re a dud in bed.”
“Uh.” He paused halfway up the stairs, unsure what to say to that.
“Because that would be a real bummer since I’ve kind of built you up to this sex god in my head. Please tell me you’re a sex god. Please.”
“You are going to be so upset if you remember all of this once the fever breaks.”
“I want my mama. I want her to make me chicken soup. Please. Father doesn’t need to know. Let’s not tell him.”
“Shh, no one is telling that bastard anything.” He started up the stairs again.
He didn’t think it was possible to hate Orlando Crane more. Turned out he was wrong. With every detail she unwittingly revealed about the bastard, he discovered more to hate.
“Shh.” She held her finger up to her mouth. “He might hear you.”
“Baby, he won’t hear me. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” she asked.
“Yes, dead.”
“Did I kill him?”
He stopped again at the top of the stairs, staring down at her. “Baby. No.”
“Oh. I thought about it. He was so mean. Way meaner than Meangent-Regent.”
“You know that meangent isn’t a word, right?”
“Pfft. No one cares about that.”
Right.
Good to know.
He carried her into her bedroom and laid her down on the bed.
“What were you doing out, if you’re ill?” he asked.
“I didn’t know I was ill before I left.” She started shivering. “I’m cold.”
“You’re burning up.”
“So cold. Come warm me up.” She held open her arms.
“I’ve got to strip you off and get you into bed. And find a thermometer.”
“I want huggles.”
“Baby.”
“Don’t you want to hug me?” she said with a sniffle.
Holy. Shit.
Stand your ground. A hug isn’t what she needs right now. What she needs is for you to take care of her.
“I need to get you into bed.”
“So you’re just a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?” she asked. “No cuddles and aftercare? I should have known.”
What?
He wasn’t sure what she was saying. But as he reached for her hoodie, she scuttled back. “I can do it.”