Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I cut him a look and then stare back at the long road in front of us. “Then you should stop asking.”
He glances outside again. “Stop the car.”
“What?”
He reaches for his door handle. “Stop.”
I jerk the wheel and pull off of the road next to a series of bushes, my heart thundering. “What are you doing?”
He opens his door and steps out, shutting it quietly behind him. The atmosphere inside the vehicle calms almost instantly. As I watch, he strides in the borrowed socks toward an imposing and scarred pine tree and reaches out to plant his large hand on the bark.
Something stirs in me. I release my seatbelt and step out of the car, walking around to the front, watching him. “Are you all right?” I gentle my voice.
The wind increases in force, and he lifts his head, shutting his eyes. The breeze tosses his thick hair over his forehead, and his nostrils flare when he breathes in deep.
I look around, seeing nature and freedom.
He remains in that position and lets the wind batter at him.
I shiver and rub my hands down my arms.
“Rosalie, do you understand that a pine tree like this can release between forty-five and sixty pounds of oxygen every year?” He remains still as he asks the question.
My heart stutters. No, I didn’t know that. “So all oxygen comes from trees?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile, and his eyelids remain closed. “No, trees generate around twenty-eight percent of the Earth’s oxygen production. Between fifty and seventy percent comes from phytoplankton.”
I’m not following the discussion. “Phytoplankton?”
“Yes, marine plants.”
He must’ve read up quite a bit in prison. I imagine he had plenty of time the last seven years. “Alexei?”
He opens his eyes and watches his broad hand slide down the rough bark of the tree. “You know where they don’t have trees or phytoplankton?”
“In prison?” I guess.
“Real oxygen smells different.”
I take a big whiff and basically smell pine and the possibility of an oncoming storm. “It’s going to rain,” I say, wanting to give him warning.
He tilts his head back and looks up to the tops of the trees and the darkening skies. “Real rain,” he murmurs. “I haven’t felt that in way too long.”
The day is darkening, and my knees are starting to knock together. “Alexei, it’s cold out here. How about we get in the car with the heater and watch the storm?” I feel for him. I can’t imagine not being able to touch a tree or feel the wind in my face for years.
Remaining by the tree, he bends down to look at a scar with dried pitch sealing it shut. “Somebody ran into this little one,” he murmurs.
As a tree, it’s pretty large, but I don’t argue. A couple of raindrops plop on the metal of my car. I sigh and look up. Then several more drops.
He glances sideways, his gaze drifting upward to meet mine, his eyes pools of unfathomable darkness. “Do you believe in fate?”
For some undefinable reason, butterflies wing through my abdomen. “I’ve never given it much thought.” As he stands, looking at home against the dark forest, those butterflies flap harder. “Do you?”
“Most definitely.” He leaves the shelter provided by the trees and stands at the front of my car, allowing rain to start falling on his head and shoulders. In the light storm, accepting the downpour, his eyelids now shut and his face turned to the clouds, there’s something primal about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but this hint of vulnerability somehow makes him seem even more dangerous.
His eyes open suddenly, and those dark orbs focus on me. “I don’t like wearing another man’s clothes,” he rumbles.
I blink at the change in subject. “I don’t blame you, but it’s all I could get.”
He lifts a hand. “I’m not complaining. I just would like to know whose clothes they are.”
“Why?” I challenge.
He shrugs as more raindrops land on his forehead and slide down the hard angles of his face. “Let’s chalk it up to curiosity for now.”
I think that’s probably a good idea. “Fine. I have some elderly boarders, and I borrowed clothing from all of them. None of them are your size.”
He cocks his head. “Elderly boarders?”
“Yes.” I smile automatically as I think with fondness about the seven men. “They pay rent and keep the house I inherited in good condition.” Well, they try to keep it in good condition. Sometimes when they help, things get worse, but I choose not to share that with Alexei. Rain is soaking my hair and clothing, and I allow it, trying to feel what he does. How unimaginable to be kept cooped up inside a tiny cell, especially if you hadn’t done anything wrong.
He studies me as intently as he did the tree. “Why did you pick me up today?”