Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
There was television, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep us occupied the entire day.
“I’m going to work out,” he said as he washed his hands while looking at me over the sheet. “Do you want to work out with me?”
“I didn’t bring any shoes,” I teased.
He grinned. “We can do it barefoot until we get you some shoes.”
I didn’t really want to work out, but what in the hell else was there to do?
So that was exactly what we did.
We worked out.
And he told me what to do every single step of the way.
By the end, I was sweaty, in desperate need of another shower, and couldn’t keep my eyes off of the man that was in sweatpants only.
The only saving grace that I had was that the sweatpants were black, which not only hid the sweat but also fairly concealed his bulge outline.
I was lying on the mat, back down, and staring at him as he finished up his last set of dumbbell presses.
I watched as the muscles in his shoulders bunched, revealing a well-defined back that made me want to follow the paths of muscles with my fingertips.
A drop of sweat fell from his hair, landing midway down his spine, and traveled all the way down until it disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
“You might as well go get your shower done,” he suggested. “Maybe when I’m finished, you’ll be done.”
I didn’t want to leave him. I liked watching his muscles. His sweaty back.
I ignored his comment and said, “Why wings?”
The tattoo on his back was massive. It took up the entire expanse of his back, starting from one shoulder and spreading to the other.
The wings even curled onto his arm, but stopped abruptly as if it was just cut off right where his shirt sleeves would fall. At least on one arm, anyway. The other arm flowed right into a raven that was on his left arm.
“Broken wings,” he corrected me. “And I got it because of its symbolism.”
“Broken wings?” I asked. “Why?”
He set the dumbbells down and turned to me, revealing his stomach.
His abs.
His very sexy, definitely has more than a six-pack, abs.
“Just a reminder that though I may be here, right now, I’ll never escape.” He shrugged.
That only made me realize that I needed more of an explanation than what he was giving me.
Dammit.
I opened my mouth to say something more, but he walked past me out of the workout room.
“If you’re not going to take a shower first, I will.” Then he was gone.
I lay there until I heard him out of the shower, then quickly stood up and headed to my own shower.
All the while, I wondered what in the hell had made Saint Nicholson think that he could never escape.
• • •
“Hello?” I answered my phone, thankful for the reprieve in the intensity that was Saint.
After his explanation earlier about his wings, I’d wanted to ask more. But it was more than obvious as I started to broach the subject each time that he wasn’t willing to talk anymore about it.
“Hey,” my dad said softly. “Got some bad news.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Someone broke into your place last night,” he said. “Trashed your place. Burned your couch in the middle of the living room then put it out. When I went by there this morning to feed your fish, I found it like that.” He sighed. “They killed all your fish, too. Turned a hairdryer on and stuck it in the tank.”
I gasped, my hand covering my mouth.
The sound and the movement drew the attention of the man that was sitting next to me on the bed.
He pushed a button on the television remote and the TV screen went dark.
“Did the camera feed show anything?” I asked, sounding more hopeful than I actually felt.
“It did,” he said. “It was a couple of teens who saw an opportunity. They’ve already been questioned and said that they saw no one was home and thought to have some fun. I’m sorry, baby.”
I drooped. “That sucks.”
“It does,” he confirmed. “I just wanted to let you know in case you heard it go over the police scanner or something.”
I looked over at the man next to me that was lying on the bed.
“We don’t have a police scanner,” I told him. “We’re like isolated little castoffs right now. Nothing in or out unless y’all tell us. The Wi-Fi isn’t working just yet—but they’re working on it—and for some reason, the hotel itself blocks signal. I’m only able to get signal at one single spot in this whole place. I feel like I’m in the dark ages.”
My dad chuckled.
“Damn,” he said. “That sounds like it’s so tough.”
I mentally flipped him off.
“Anyway,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry. We’ll fix it up and get it set to rights. I just wanted you to know.”