Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Heart pounding, adrenaline gunning through my veins.
I act on instinct, sprinting into the hall as footsteps pound the staircase going up to the next level.
Just as I reach them, there’s a blur falling down the steps.
And there’s only a split second.
Just enough time to throw out my arms to break the intruder’s fall.
I’m expecting to be bowled over when we collide.
That happens a second later, after I’ve grabbed the small wrecking ball plowing into my chest.
We both go down screaming.
Oh, crap.
A short, soft grunt of pain rattles my bones as my grip tightens on the bulk that’s crushing the air from my lungs.
No big, scary intruder at all. Not an adult one, at least.
A tiny person.
One look at the girl makes me gasp and release my hold.
She rolls off me, coughing, flopping across the floor.
She’s young, still in that gangly phase before kids grow into their arms and legs, but she’s almost a teenager.
I blink slowly, taking her in.
Big green eyes behind glasses that dangle from one ear, miraculously intact after crashing against my boobs.
Blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders.
Her mouth quivers like she’s on the verge of tears.
What the actual hell?
The girl looks as bewildered as I feel, just staring back at me like a startled fawn.
If I had to guess, I’d peg her age around ten, with the kind of delicate bone structure that says she’ll be stunning when she’s older.
But holy shit, what just happened?
Why is she here?
We both start scrambling to our feet like wary animals.
I extend a hand to help her up. But before she can take it, there’s a single clipped word behind me. A growl so low and vicious I’m not sure it’s a word at all.
I spin around, stepping back out of instinct as I see a man who could shame my darkest intruder fantasies.
He’s tall. Absurdly tall. Like fee-fi-fo-fum territory.
His jaw looks clenched so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t snap.
And he shares the girl’s jade-green eyes, bright and flashing with anger.
He glares at me like he wants to murder me on the spot and it’s only sheer willpower that’s stopping him. His hands open and close by his sides.
His face is set to murder.
Ah, just my luck.
I stumble across the biggest, scowliest, and scary-hot man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and he wants my head speared on a pike.
God help me, I can’t stop staring.
Broad shoulders.
Short, dark hair and sensual scruff around a mouth pinned into a violent, flat line. Cheekbones made to cut you to ribbons.
His face has a craggy look, Henry Cavill-level on the hotness meter. No baby-faced, sweet-eyed celebrity here. He’s all storming testosterone and bristling muscle.
And boy is he pissed.
2
THIS OLD HOUSE (KANE)
What the fuck am I looking at?
No, more like who?
This strange woman folds her arms as she stares up at me in shock. Sophie’s still behind her on the floor, giving me that kicked puppy look I know too well.
There’s murder in my veins, even if the intruder looks harmless enough.
What the hell is she doing in my rental, grabbing my daughter?
The second I heard my little girl scream, I came running like any father tuned to his kid’s distress call.
Now, I’m ready for war to protect her, if that’s what it takes.
“Don’t move,” I bark at the stranger.
Her face tightens.
At least she listens, allowing me to storm past her and take Sophie’s hand. I get her off the floor and shield her behind me.
“What the hell are you doing here? What did you do to my daughter?” I demand, sizing the woman up, raking my gaze over her.
Her blue eyes flash with anger.
For a second, I realize she’s young, maybe double Sophie’s age.
She’s also effortlessly gorgeous, even without makeup. The oversized shades perched above her eyes push her bright blonde hair back from her face.
Her jeans are faded, clinging to shapely legs and hips designed for sin.
In another life, I might keep staring, drinking her in like the tall sip she is.
But in this one, where I’m a father, this prowler has hell to pay.
“Well? Talk,” I demand.
She clears her throat loudly.
“First off, I didn’t do anything to your daughter. Oh, besides break her fall when she came tumbling down the stairs. You’re welcome,” she adds, rolling a shoulder.
She winces, sucking in a sharp breath.
I don’t feel sorry for her.
For all I know, she’s playing it up for sympathy.
My eyes flick to her pockets, her hands, just to be sure she isn’t hiding a weapon. Old habits die hard.
She doesn’t look that threatening, no, but appearances can be deceiving.
You never know if Little Miss Indignation will morph into Little Miss Switchblade in the blink of an eye.
“You have five seconds before I call the cops,” I snarl.
Usually, people wilt at the ice in my voice when I get pissed.
I’m a big guy. I know how to throw my weight around, and my voice, too.