Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I squinted at my phone. “At 5:00 in the morning.” I ignored the multiple texts and emails, slamming the phone back down on the side table with a clatter.
I’d assumed Elliot would do whatever was needed to stop the noise, then once he had done that, he’d bring me back into the warm, comfortable cocoon of his arms. I couldn’t sleep without it, without him, these days.
But instead, Elliot got out of bed. His behavior so confusing, it took me a second to process it as he turned on the bathroom light so he could put on his clothing.
At first, I was worried there was some kind of family emergency, something to do with Clara. My stomach curdled in dread. Elliot was moving quickly, in a rush. But a glimpse at Elliot’s relaxed face had me at least secure in knowing it wasn’t something terrible.
“What the fuck is going on?” I propped myself up on my elbows.
Elliot looked up at me, a tender expression on his handsome face. “Go back to sleep, Calliope. Sorry to wake you.” He said it as if I would just go back to sleep passively, asking no questions. As if he didn’t know me at all.
And he knew, despite the ungodly hour, once I was awake, I was awake.
“What, you’ve got another girlfriend or something?” My tone was light, joking, trying to sound like I didn’t care. But I did. Care. Very much. In fact, if that was a woman, I might have had the urge to go set her house on fire.
Elliot chuckled. “No, babe. I require every single one of my wits ready and available for just you.” He hurriedly put on his jeans. “I’m a volunteer firefighter.”
I sunk back onto the bed. So if I were to set some innocent woman’s house on fire, then Elliot would be rushing to save the day.
Figures.
“Volunteer?” I repeated. “As in you don’t get paid?”
Elliot snatched his shirt, putting it on with the same urgency as before. Not exactly a panicked hurry, but he was definitely hustling.
“That’s the idea of being a volunteer.”
I inspected my nails now that he was putting a shirt on and the good stuff was no longer on display. And to distract myself from thinking about how the good stuff was really his twinkling eyes, the upturn of his lips, and the rogue curl that always fell over his eyebrows.
“Cannot imagine volunteering my time to do any kind of job. Let alone ones where you risk your life,” I muttered, picking at my cuticles.
“Just doing my part for the citizens of our little inlet.” He leaned down to give me a quick but hard kiss on the mouth, lingering inches from my lips after. “Didn’t miss the part where you called yourself my girlfriend.”
I screwed up my face. “I did no such thing. I’m not a junior in high school. I’m no one’s girlfriend.”
Elliot straightened and shook his head. “You’re not anyone’s. You’re mine.”
Suddenly, all the soft teasing was gone from his face, and all I saw was possessiveness. Intensity.
He continued looking that way as he walked out the door.
As I had expected, I had not been able to go back to sleep. Not after the jarring wakeup, not with all the pressing work emails, not without a distraction in the form of morning sex. The bed was cold without Elliot, the house much too empty and quiet. I’d elected to take that ungodly workout class that started before I was even willing to get up. I decided to be one of the psychopaths who got up at 5:00 in the morning for a gym class. Maybe I’d make some like-minded friends.
Once I was dressed in my workout clothes and signed up for a class, I had enough time to return emails, make tea. Elliot got me into it. Told me about cortisol spikes and drinking coffee on an empty stomach.
It was thirty minutes after Elliot left when a shadow appeared in the corner of my eye.
My heart rate spiked, though I kept outwardly calm, trying to think of where the closest weapon might be. I eyed the knife rack to my right, moving imperceptibly closer with forced casualty.
“You don’t need to welcome me with an attempted stabbing.” Jasper’s tone was deep, casual, chilling.
Despite the familiarity of his voice, my heart rate did not calm. I turned to face him, standing where he’d let himself in by the sliding door that led to the beach. It had been locked. I checked every night. Then Elliot checked it since the shooter from weeks ago still hadn’t been caught.
“Most civilized people knock.” I had to force casualness into my voice.
“I’m not civilized.”
I braced my hands on the counter, thrumming my fingers against the cool marble. “Be it as it may, I’ll have to insist that you do if you choose to visit again,” I told him sharply. “Which I’d caution against, since I don’t think we have any reason to speak to each other.” I paused, eyeing him. “Unless you’ve come to kill me.” My tone didn’t change. But I was joking. Wasn’t I?