Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
For a long moment, I stare at it. And when I sit up, I half expect it to click shut again as if yesterday was some kind of mistake.
But it doesn’t.
Instantly, Kane’s words fill my head. I don’t want to cage you. I just want to keep you safe.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand, smoothing my hands down the borrowed oversized sweater I’m wearing. It isn’t mine. None of this is mine. But Lord knows I wouldn’t surround myself with wood-paneled walls and plastic bathtubs by choice. I’d also choose a different scent besides cedar and pine to assault my nostrils with on a daily freaking basis.
Vanilla, anyone? A little lavender, perhaps? Sheesh.
But when I walk into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, I just about trip over my feet when I spot brand-new products on the sink. A hair dryer, a straightener, face wash, separate shampoo and conditioner and body wash, lip gloss, blush, mascara, makeup brushes…there are so many new things, they practically take up the entire counter.
And beside the items sits a little note scribbled in very masculine handwriting.
I wasn’t sure what you needed, so I got everything I could find. I hope it helps make things more comfortable for you.
-Kane
I run my finger over two of the bottles—face moisturizer and toner.
He got me toner?
When I look up at my reflection in the mirror, I’m smiling. And when a visual of Kane’s green eyes and his full lips starts to form behind my eyes, I have to make a concerted effort not to take it any further.
This is thoughtful. It’s personal. And while the real nag about my missing suitcase with my stuff—and my doll—still thrums deep, I can’t be angry with him for trying.
I hop in the shower and then use every single product and appliance on that counter. By the time I’m finished, despite the depressing wardrobe of flannel and sweatpants, my hair is shiny and my lips are glossy and my eyes are highlighted by mascara. I almost feel like myself again.
I step into the hall, and I expect Kane to be standing guard outside the door, but a little pit of disappointment forms in my belly when he’s not.
I walk to the end of the hall, and the stairs creak under my feet as I descend to the main area below. My eyes scan the kitchen first, and I find Rook standing behind Kylie with one hand braced on the counter near her hip. I swear, it’s like the man doesn’t know how to exist without touching her or something.
Calloway is rinsing something in the sink.
I frown, looking around the room again.
But just before I can open my mouth to ask where Kane is, the kitchen door swings open, and he steps inside with several blocks of wood in his arms.
His eyes meet mine, and my heart skips a beat.
Stupid heart.
“Morning, Blair,” he says, a warm smile on his full lips.
“Good morning,” I greet, and for some strange reason, a surge of nerves floats around inside my belly. “So…thanks for all the…stuff.”
“You’re welcome.” He winks. And goodness, I don’t know why that wink is so sexy, but it is.
He walks past me to drop the wood near the fireplace, and his scent somehow manages to overpower the pine and cedar so much that my head swims in it. Flannel, cotton, earth, and something kind of spicy and sweet—it’s mind-blowing that I would think that combination smells good.
I mean, have you ever been to The Plaza in New York and gotten a whiff of what they’re pumping into the air there? It’s heaven.
Not quite as heavenly as Kane, though.
A half cough, half laugh escapes Kylie’s big, broody vampire man, and I glance over my shoulder to find him looking at me.
“What?” I question with narrowed eyes.
And the bastard just smiles at me. “Didn’t say anything.”
I don’t miss the way he and Kylie make goo-goo ga-ga eyes at each other, and I let out an annoyed huff as I follow Kane’s lead into the kitchen.
But when I realize I’m following him like some kind of lost puppy, I redirect myself to the kitchen table and plop down in one of the wooden chairs instead.
“Blair, do you like soup?” Kylie asks, and I look across the room to meet her eyes.
“Soup?”
“Yeah.” Kylie smiles. Goodness, she’s insanely pretty, and she doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on her face.
“Um…sure?” I shrug. “Doesn’t everyone like soup?”
“I don’t,” Kane chimes in, waggling his brows. “Never been much for food, you know?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. But then I quickly clamp my lips shut when I realize I’m having a little too much fun with him. The last thing I need is to get attached to my captor.
Yet here you are, trying to follow him around like a puppy.