Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Okay, Alex.” I cleared my throat, feeling embarrassed by my demands. She was right—she was trying to help. “Thanks.”
She worked quietly for a few moments. She was close enough that her soft fragrance overrode the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and I inhaled the scent deeply. The deluge of liquid in my eyes was warm, and the burning eased. She patted my arm and raised the bed.
“Okay, Adam, open your eyes. They may be a little blurry because I put in some antibiotic ointment to prevent infection. The blurriness will clear soon. They might be sore, but I have the lights low to help you focus.”
I blinked, feeling as if my eyes were coated in sandpaper, but I could see, although things farther away were somewhat fuzzy.
“Hello.”
My gaze flew to the sound of the voice. The only light in the room was the one over the bed. Alex was bent low and close, her kind smile the first thing to greet me. Time seemed to stand still as I looked into a pair of eyes so blue, deep, and fathomless, they took my breath away. A small shock ran down my spine as I stared into their depths.
“How are the eyes?”
I cleared my throat, breaking my stare. “Good. Yeah, ah, I can see. They’re still blurry and sore.” I frowned. “So is my fu—” Remembering her chiding, I paused and reworded my statement. “Um…my head.”
“I’m sure it is. You hit it hard, judging from the bruises and how bad this cut is. I’ll finish cleaning it, and then the doctor will come in to see you and discuss the results of the CT scan.” I relaxed into my pillow as she tended the cut on my head, trying not to wince at the pain. It hurt like a bitch.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s a deep one, and I think you need stitches.” Drawing back, she glared at me. “What were you thinking, standing on the ledge of that building? Do you realize what would have happened if you’d fallen forward, not sideways and back? A bad gash and a headache would’ve been the least of your troubles. You could have been killed.”
Her lecture took me back, but then I chuckled at her statement and her bossiness. I couldn’t help but study her with my photographer’s eye, something I did without thinking. I took in many details about her appearance, even with the discomfort that lingered with my vision. She was a little thing, with hair that could only be described with one color. It wasn’t auburn or chestnut. It was red. It glowed under the light, a shimmering, bright copper. It was pulled back into a ponytail, and I could only imagine how striking it would be loose and flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes were amazing—huge, with long, dark lashes. Her ivory cheeks were rounded and smooth, covered in hundreds of freckles—small flecks of hammered gold embedded under her skin, enhancing her unique beauty. Even as she frowned at me, I could see the indent of dimples beside her full lips. The dimples added a mischievous look to her pretty face. Her hands were on her hips as she lectured me, a stance I was sure she thought made her look tough and serious, but it didn’t work.
“I wasn’t standing, I was crouching,” I teased, unsure as to why I was trying to defend myself or wanting to reassure her. I wasn’t used to anyone taking notice of what I did, so her worried frown and gentle reprimanding were oddly touching.
“You shouldn’t have been on that ledge. That was dangerous!”
I shrugged dismissively. “I needed the shot. It was the right angle.”
Her brow furrowed as she gathered up her used supplies. “You’d risk your life? For a picture?”
I smirked, wondering if she lectured all her patients like this. I had to admit, I liked her spunk. But crouching on the wide ledge of a building was hardly dangerous stuff for me.
“Here. Look.” I held up my camera, squinting as I flipped through the last few shots, and showing her the viewfinder. All the sailboats lit up in the darkness, their lights reflecting mirror images on the flat water, were fantastic. “I wanted this shot.”
She gazed at the photo. “It’s lovely. But not worth risking your life.”
“My life was never at risk. I was perfectly safe. I should’ve removed the bag from my shoulder—it knocked me off-balance. I wouldn’t have fallen over the edge.” I frowned. “And I wouldn’t have fallen at all if Tommy hadn’t startled me.”
“He feels very bad about what happened.”
“Good.”
She shook her head. “Between the cut, all the bruises, and the concussion you may have, I hope it was worth it. You’re going to feel it for a few days.”
“Good thing I have you to look after me then, isn’t it?” I grinned and lowered my voice, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “My very own Florence Nightingale.”