Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“You’re not a prisoner here,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “But you’re not leaving without me.”
The possessive edge in his tone should irritate me. But it doesn’t. Instead, it sends a shiver down my spine, one I can’t entirely blame on the chilly mountain air.
“Fine,” I say, pulling free. “But if you hover, I’m locking you out. I don’t need a clinger–” I tease, “or worse, another stalker.”
His lips quirk into a smirk. “Are you sure about that? Because I’d stalk you any day, baby.”
I burst into a fit of giggles, thankful for the levity even in the darker moments.
Later that night, I wake with a scream, my chest tight, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The room spins, and I clutch at the sheets, desperate for something solid to ground me.
“Callie.” Liam’s voice cuts through the haze, low and steady. He’s there in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling me into his arms. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I shake my head, tears spilling over before I can stop them. “I can’t—I can’t breathe—”
“Look at me,” he says firmly, tipping my chin up so our eyes meet. “Breathe with me. In... and out. That’s it.”
His voice is a lifeline, and I cling to it, matching the rise and fall of his chest until the tightness eases. He doesn’t let go, even when my breathing evens out. Instead, he wraps the blanket around both of us, holding me like he’s afraid I might slip away.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. “No one’s getting to you. Not on my watch. Not here. Not ever.”
I nod against his chest, too exhausted to speak. His hand moves in slow, soothing circles on my back, and for the first time since he discovered my cut brake lines and the accusing notes this morning, the fear recedes, replaced by something warmer, something that feels like hope.
Then, without words, Liam carries me to his bed, curling me against his side, while he keeps watch over me like a sentinel. It’s not romantic—at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s survival, plain and simple.
Except it doesn’t feel plain or simple when his arm tightens around me in his sleep or when I wake to find him watching me, his gaze heavy with something I can’t quite name.
“This can’t be comfortable for you,” I say in the morning, my voice husky with sleep.
Liam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots as the morning sunlight cuts through the window. He glances over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He stands, stretching, and the sight of his broad shoulders and bare chest makes my cheeks heat. “But I’m not kicking you out.”
“Is that your way of saying you like having me here?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He smirks, leaning down until his face is inches from mine. “Don’t push your luck, Baker.”
My breath catches, and for a moment, I forget how to form words. He straightens, chuckling as he heads for the door.
Damn him and his infuriating charm.
For the rest of the day, I manage to distract myself from the lingering fear with moments of levity between Liam and I, small pockets of normalcy that feel like rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Like when Liam shows me how to shape a horseshoe in his shop, his hands guiding mine as I wield the hammer.
“You’ve got to put your weight into it,” he says, his deep growl low in my ear.
“I am,” I protest, though my swing barely dents the glowing metal.
“Here.” He steps closer, his chest brushing my back as he takes hold of my hands. “Like this.”
The heat from the forge pales in comparison to the fire that ignites under my skin. His hands are rough but gentle, his grip firm as he helps me strike the metal. When he lets go, I feel the absence of his touch like a physical loss.
“You’re a natural,” he says, his lips quirking into a rare smile.
“Don’t lie to me, Grayson.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His gaze lingers on mine a beat too long, and I wonder if he feels it too—the pull between us, undeniable and electric. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss we shared the night of the storm, right here in his shop. I can’t stop thinking how much I want him to press his lips to mine again, and how I’ve come to crave his warm body pressed against mine at night in his bed.
I’m growing addicted to this man and every fiber of me is trying to warn me how dangerous that is.
“I’m not used to this,” I admit, breaking the silence.
“Used to what?”
“Relying on someone.”
He grunts softly, his forehead hovering against mine. “You should get used to it, Angel, because I like taking care of you.”