Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“She has an arse,” I snap. “I have an ass, and you can kiss it.” The whole room erupts into laughter. I don’t join in.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Doc says, leaving the room.
I gawk at him. “You’re leaving?”
“I think she’s in capable hands, Brad.” He drops his head, looking over his glasses.
Capable? I feel capable of murder. Not much else.
“I’m going to check on Rose.” Beau disappears too.
For fuck’s sake. I scan up and down Pearl’s body, wondering where to start. “Come,” I order, wrapping my arms around her waist and helping her to sit up. I get a much-needed waft of her lavender scent as I do, and it’s glorious. “You good?”
“Yeah.” She sucks back air through her teeth too many times, until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling. I reach for one of my T-shirts on the back of a nearby chair and stretch the neck, putting it over her head, then pull the arm down so she can thread her braced arm through the hole. Once her other arm is through, I pull it down her body, covering her. I should carry her, but that would defeat the purpose, I guess, and I can’t see how I could do that without causing too much pain. She’s covered in cuts and bruises. Absolutely covered. Broken ribs, a broken arm. I grit my teeth. Anya got off lightly. “Ready to stand?” I ask, holding her elbows as she grips the inside of mine and shuffles her ass to the edge of the bed. “Easy,” I whisper, watching her place her feet down and pad them a few times into the carpet. “Go slow. You might get a head rush.” She slowly brings her body to standing, gripping me harder.
“Yep. Head rush.” She sinks into my chest, her forehead under my neck. I feel her lashes ticking my throat past my open collar.
“Sit back down.”
“No, no, no. I’m good.”
Good?
She breaks away and peeks up at me. Smiles a little. It’s an opportunity to drink her in, and I don’t pass it up. “You need a hair tie,” I say, holding her red waves back.
“You need a trim.” Her eyes scan my bristle. “Or maybe not. I like you a little overgrown. And overprotective. And over the top. All the overs.”
I laugh lightly and turn her away from me, taking her shoulders and walking her to the bathroom. I shut the door and let her hold on to me while I pull her panties down her thighs, lining her up to the seat. “You’re good,” I say easing her down, crouching to keep myself level with her. She closes her eyes, her nose wrinkling, and exhales, sagging when she releases her bladder. Not shy. No drama about me being here while she uses the toilet. I’m setting the standard, and she’s not protesting my standards. We’re getting off to the best start. Pearl opens her eyes, chewing on the ring in her lip, and reaches for my face, feeling my cheek.
I cover her hand with mine. “I never wanted to be,” I murmur.
“Be what?”
“Your hero.”
Bursts of sparkles light up her green eyes.
“But I do now,” I add, pulling her hand away from my cheek and kissing it. “If you’ll still have me.”
“Have you as my hero?” she asks.
“Or whatever you want to call me.” I rub my scrunched nose with hers. “Just not daddy.”
She chuckles, and I stand while she wipes before helping her up. “Hands,” I say, taking her to the sink and washing them. “Dry.” I smother her hands in a towel and pat off the wet, being careful of her broken arm. “What?” I ask, feeling her studying me.
“Considering you’ve never done this, you’re quite good at it.”
“Washing hands?” I ask, my smile wry.
“Yeah,” she whispers, but I know she doesn’t mean that specifically. Looking after her. Being gentle. Loving.
She lets me lead her to the bed and get her back under the sheets, and I tuck her in, feeling her watching me still. “Water?”
She hums her yes and lets me put the straw past her lips, and I watch her take half the glass before releasing the straw. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I laugh under my breath.
“I’m fine.” I set the glass on the nightstand and perch on the edge of the bed.
“Want to get in?” she says, lifting the sheets with her good hand.
I raise my brows. Not in interest, but in warning. Any kind of intimacy isn’t happening for a while. But that’s okay. I can wait. In the meantime, I get to appreciate her.
Love her.
This. Taking care of her. It feels like what I’ve been waiting to do. This and be a father. I swallow and push back that particular edge of anger until I can unleash it. Right now, I need a level head, and I need some information.