Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“And stitches.” I winced.
“How many you think?”
“Ten maybe? Fifteen?”
It was twenty, which was surprising, and as I sat there with Ian Doyle, who’d been kind enough to have my dogs dropped off at my house, the curtain was swept sideways and I was faced with Chief Deputy Sam Kage. I knew him by reputation only, but he was friends with Duncan Stiel, who was Aaron Sutter’s husband as well as Darius’s oldest friend, so I felt like we could have met at a dinner party at some point.
Kage said, “I don’t like it when requests don’t come through official channels, Colonel,” but he walked over and offered me his hand. “And the FBI and CIA both, on a Sunday night, is a lot.”
“I’m sure it is. And I never liked that either, but there were mitigating circumstances.”
He nodded, letting go of my hand. “Thank you for your service, Colonel.”
“And yours,” I said, returning the sentiment.
He gave Doyle a tip of his head, and then he was gone.
“I like him,” I told Doyle.
“Yeah. Me too,” he agreed.
Finally home, I collapsed on my bed, with the dogs, and was there when Owen called.
“Hi,” I greeted him, smiling even though he couldn’t see me.
“Why didn’t you pick up the FaceTime call?”
“Because I look like hammered shit,” I confessed, my eyes closing. “And I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Worry me?”
“You should know that both your dogs are really good with the down command. They were awesome.”
He gasped. “What happened?” Worry and fear infused his voice.
“It’s okay, I’m fine, but there were a couple of guys in the woods who tried to kill me.”
Nothing. Silence.
“But I defended myself successfully, and there won’t be any more guys coming because the guy who was trying to kill me is dead too.”
Still quiet on his end.
“Owen?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled.
I grunted.
“Jared Colter!”
That was loud.
“How dare you not— I’m coming home.”
“No, no,” I groaned. “You just got there, and everything’s fine. Just stay, do your talk, get paid, and get all the cheers and adulation. Otherwise you’re going to get a reputation as a guy who doesn’t keep his commitments—”
“I don’t give a shit,” he rasped. “You know what I do care about?”
“I know, but really, I’m fine. I have a tiny scratch that needed some stitches, but I’m fine, and there’s nothing you—”
“A scratch doesn’t need stitches,” he said flatly and hung up.
It was rude, but I forgave him because I was exhausted. I was asleep in moments.
I got up before dawn the next morning, showered, replaced the bandage, took the antibiotics as directed, and just as I went to the kitchen, the front door opened and Owen came through. He dropped his duffel and laptop bag by the door, and the dogs ran to greet him, happy and excited, even at the ridiculous hour of a little after four in the morning.
I went to him immediately, and he wrapped me in his arms and stood there, breathing me in. Neither of us said a word until he inhaled deeply and looked up at me, scowling.
“You shouldn’t have come back, but I’m deliriously happy to see you.”
He put his hand on my cheek, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes.
“I get mad, and then I can’t even speak, and I have to stop that,” Owen told me, kissing my other cheek before pulling me into another hug. “I won’t ever hang up on you again, because how are you to know that I’m turning around and going right back to the airport instead of cursing your name?”
“I thought you were cursing my name,” I said softly, pressing my face into the side of his neck, kissing over his skin.
“Well, I wasn’t. I just got back on a plane, made lavish apologies, and said I would do a three-day web seminar instead. They were thrilled, so I’ll be doing that next week instead of working for the FBI. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
I lifted my head and grinned at him. “Great. You’re annoying another three-letter agency. How could that ever backfire?”
“Are you hopped up on painkillers?” he asked me, smiling wide.
“No. Painkillers? For a tiny little cut?”
He walked me to the bathroom, peeled off the large gauze bandage I had put over it, inspected the wound that did look angry, and then covered it again and looked up into my face. “That is not a small cut. That was a gaping wound that I’m sure bled quite a bit.”
I grunted. “Speaking of, my leather jacket is fucked unless someone can mend it. Maybe we could get a cool patch, get the blood out.”
He shook his head at me and walked me into our bedroom, to our bed, and started stripping out of his clothes.
“When those guys attacked me, all I could think…” His Henley flew off, thrown aside, and his wide, muscular chest distracted me, on top of all that sleek gold skin that was melting my brain. I tried again. “All I could think was how mad—glad, I mean—how glad I was that you weren’t— What’re you doing?”