Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
She stirs, and her fingers flex against my chest, once, then curling again, tighter. I tighten my arms around her in answer, and the fist she's making closes on the front of my shirt.
"Rest, Nicole. You're safe now."
A pause. Long enough that I think she's gone under again.
Then—
"T-Thank you."
Her voice catches on the word, and it comes out scraped. Used hard. I don't know if she screamed, and I don’t think now is a safe time for me to know the answer to that.
"I don't know why it always has to be you," she whispers.
I have the answer to that, but not now, not in a moving car with her hands still shaking against my chest. So I tell her instead the only thing she needs to hear right now.
"You're safe now. That's all that matters."
It seems to satisfy her, because I feel her relax against me, the breath she'd been holding leaving her in one long exhale, and her fist finally uncurls against my shirt.
But for me, the words are painfully hollow.
Because while it's true that she's out of harm's way, I could have been a few minutes late, and then what? What if my men hadn't moved as fast as they did, what if Montero had hit one more red light, what if I'd waited another minute before going down to the stockroom myself—
What then?
This shouldn't have happened at all.
She shouldn't have suffered.
But she did.
Because of me.
She was nearly raped.
Because of me.
She could've lost her life.
Because of me.
All of it...because of me, dammit.
It's the costliest mistake I've ever made in my life, and that's why I know I'll never make it twice.
The drive to my home is over an hour, and she sleeps for most of it, her cheek pressed against the side of my neck and her breath uneven against my collar. Once, her fingers flex against my chest, the same small flex from earlier, and I cover her hand with mine until it stills.
She doesn't move again until Montero brings the limo to a stop in front of my house.
"We're here, Nicole."
I say it quietly, into her hair, and she wakes with a small startled inhale, followed by a flinch she tries but fails to cover, and a quick straightening of her spine that costs her more than she lets on.
“I’m sorry,” she says faintly. “I didn’t realize—” Her words end with a shaken gasp when I step out of the car first before reaching for her without warning.
She looks at me in shock, seemingly unable to comprehend why I’m carrying her in my arms like she’s a damsel in distress.
"Mr. Everford, this...”
She makes an attempt to free herself, stops when she realizes just how weak she is, and tries to reason with me instead.
“This...this isn’t appropriate.”
"Why?"
She looks up at me, and I watch her open her mouth and close it and open it again before any words come out.
"You—you know why."
That’s not an answer as far as I’m concerned, so I simply keep walking.
The hallway to the guestroom is long, and I take it without rushing. She doesn't fight me, but she doesn't settle either—every few steps her body goes stiff in my arms and then slack again, like she's running on fumes and embarrassment and not much else.
I lay her down on the bed, and she tries to sit up immediately...but stop when she sees the look I give her.
"You need to rest. A doctor will be with you shortly."
"But—"
"I'll have you tied to the bed if I have to."
Her eyes widen. "You wouldn't."
I simply look at her. Surely she know by now I’m not the type to make idle threats, especially when concerning her well-being?
"But... that's..."
Her voice gets smaller with each word.
"That's what, Nicole?"
She doesn't answer. She looks down and jerks, and my lips tighten when I realize what she’s looking at. It kills me to watch her fingers shake as she slowly fixes her buttons, one at a time. I watch her do it, and all I can think of is that I should’ve been there.
But I wasn’t.
And because I can’t let that happen again—
"Do you remember earlier,” I hear myself ask tautly, “what you asked me?"
She shakes her head.
"You wanted to know why it was always me."
Her face pales. "I—I didn't mean anything by it—"
"The answer is the same reason your husband ended up working for me."
She lifts her head then. Slowly. Not because she wants to. I can see she doesn't want to. But she does it anyway.
"I d-don't understand."
Of course she doesn't. For so many years, I haven't understood myself either.
"When did we first meet, Nicole?"
"This—this weekend?"
I almost smile.
"Wrong."
She looks at me in confusion. “But this is the first company event that my—that Sandy asked me to—”
"The first time I met you was twenty years ago."
Chapter Twelve
ONE WEEK.
One week until my graduation recital, and I've just butchered the bridge of Moonlight Sonata for the fourth time in a row.