Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She remained still as she felt the tension in him. She could almost feel his mind working, but after a while, his breathing evened out and eventually, his arm went slack. It was still a dead weight holding her pinned next to him, but at least he was relaxed now.
Minutes later, he was in a deep sleep and she knew, without a doubt, that she’d have little luck in finding her own rest.
****
When Max woke up early the next morning, Erin was missing from the bed. The indent in her pillow was there, but the place at his side was cool to the touch, as if she’d deserted the space long before.
A quick look outside on the balcony found it deserted as well, as was the en-suite they shared. Her purse on the vanity and her cell phone plugged into the wall eased him somewhat, but still, turbulence hit his bloodstream. Knowing she couldn’t have gone far, he took the quickest shower in recorded history.
Dressed in casual clothes, he searched the most obvious places where she might have retreated. The kitchen landed him no result, his cook and housekeeper denying all knowledge of Erin’s whereabouts. The atrium was empty, as was the room he’d given her for her own personal use. He checked his office, and then the secure room behind it—both empty. He didn’t understand the sudden, unaccustomed vulnerability that forced him to make a quick inspection that thankfully found her passport with his. He didn’t pause to contemplate the feeling of relief that rushed through him at the sight—he needed to find his wife. His wife, as of last night, in every sense of the word.
Pacing the entryway, trying to think, only caused him to worry more. The fact that her purse and cell phone were still upstairs meant she hadn’t attempted to go far—so where and why had she disappeared?
The house wasn’t giving him the answers he needed, so he slammed outside, intent on finding her location.
An hour later he’d enlisted the aid of five of his men and with still no sign of Erin, any residual anger he’d been feeling disappeared completely. Now all he felt was stone-cold fear, and deciding to retrace his steps more slowly, looking for something he might have missed, he went back into the house and began his search again.
He’d just put one foot on the stairway when his cell phone began ringing. Thinking the call might have something to do with his wife, he pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
Garrett Rule.
Fuck—not a good time. Max had no choice but to answer—even though he knew the bastard couldn’t possibly have gotten his hands on Erin, he answered the call anyway, just to be sure.
“Villarreal,” Max snapped into the phone, announcing himself.
“Villarreal,” Garrett Rule repeated in a tone meant to express his loathing. “I have one thing to say to you, motherfucker, so you best listen up. If you hurt my sister, I’m coming after you. Your pretty face will be history when I’m done with you and I’ll personally see to it that you lose everything. I promise you—you’ll have nothing left but the clothes on your back.”
The heated words hung on the air—and they pissed Max off. Hurt her? Was her brother fucking insane? He didn’t have it in him to hurt her—fuck—he was about to lose his mind because he couldn’t locate her.
About to open his mouth and blast the bastard for his stupidity, all he heard was a click as the other man disconnected the call.
****
Chapter Nine
Erin came back to consciousness at the sound of a far-off door slamming. Her eyes sprang open, but all she saw was darkness around her.
As she fought the grogginess that held her in its grip, another door opened, and a sliver of dim light flooded the area.
“What the fuck?”
She recognized Max’s voice, heard the snick of the light switch being activated and the little chandelier that hung from the ceiling suddenly cast a too vivid, too bright luminance on the small space of her dressing room. Groaning and covering her face with her hands, she otherwise lay still.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Having slept a total of, maybe, four hours the previous night, Erin’s rest had clearly come to an abrupt halt. Slowly, she lifted herself into a sitting position on the chaise lounge, and even more slowly, lowered her hands from her face to grip them at her sides. Not ready to deal with Max and not ready to face the day with so little sleep, she remained silent.
“I’ve been looking for you for almost two hours,” he condemned. “My men have been looking for you as well—when they have better things to be doing.” His words came to a clipped halt as if waiting for an answer.