Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I quickly wash my body before rinsing the suds off. Shutting the faucets, I grab a towel, and while I dry myself, my thoughts are filled with Ciara.
My movements still as I stare at nothing specific.
With every passing day, I feel increasingly protective of her. I already care a fuck ton about her. The moment I saw her, I knew she was the one. Every time she lifts her baby blue eyes and looks at me with fear, I just want to grab her to me and make her feel safe.
I’ve always been affected by the women I save. I felt for every single one, but with Ciara, it cuts deep, knowing she suffered because I didn’t find her sooner.
It was pure fucking luck that I saw her running through the field. If we had left earlier or later, I would have missed her, and God only knows what would’ve become of her.
I shake my head and drop the towel before heading to my closet. I step into my boxers, then grabbing a pair of black silk pants and a matching shirt, I put them on.
When I’m dressed, I don’t bother with shoes as I don’t plan to go anywhere for the rest of the day.
I head back to the bathroom and style my hair before putting on some cologne. When I’m satisfied with my appearance, I pick up my phone and leave my suite.
Walking down the hallway, I notice the floor has been mopped already, the trail of water we left gone.
I knock on Ciara’s door and wait a moment. When there’s no answer, I open the door. She’s standing by the window, still dressed in her wet clothes.
So much for making progress.
“Come,” I order, walking to her bathroom. I turn on the faucets and wait for her to join me, then say, “Shower, Ciara.”
I step around her and head to the closet, where I grab a pair of leggings, a long-sleeve shirt, and underwear. When I get back to the bathroom, she’s standing with her head bowed.
I set the clothes down on the counter, and moving slowly so I don’t startle her, I place my finger beneath her chin and nudge her face up so she’ll look at me.
The moment our eyes meet, I say, “I want you to shower and get dressed in the clothes I’ve put on the counter. I’m waiting in your bedroom.” Her lips tremble at the corners, and it has me adding, “Please, mi pequeño sol. You’ll get sick in the wet clothes, and that’s the last thing I want.”
When I let go of her chin, she keeps looking at me as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle, and feeling that she needs to hear it, I say, “You are safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
There’s a flicker of hope on her face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
Resisting the urge to press a kiss to her forehead, I step around her again and walk out of the bathroom, praying to everything holy she’ll shower.
Noticing the French doors are open, I go and stand out on the balcony and glance over the backyard. When I see all the guards, I let out a sigh. Ciara must’ve seen them, and she’s probably wondering why there are so many armed men on my property. I’ll address the subject as soon as she comes out of the bathroom.
When it sounds like she’s showering, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I glance around the bedroom before sitting down on the window seat.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. Unlocking my phone, I see a message from Dominik and open it. There’s another photo of Kristian. This time, he’s lying on a fluffy blanket, his gray eyes wide.
I quickly type out a message.
Santiago: So cute. He must take after Grace.
I hear the water shut off and quickly lock my phone before shoving it into my pocket. My eyes are glued to the doorway, but it takes ten more minutes before Ciara comes back into the bedroom.
My eyes lock on her wet hair. “Dry your hair.”
She glances back into the bathroom, then tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.
Hoping I get an answer, I ask, “Did the person who held you captive control everything you did?”
Her gaze swings back to me, then she surprises me by nodding.
“You’re allowed to do anything you want, Ciara. You won’t get in trouble, and you don’t need permission.”
Again, she looks at me as if she’s trying to figure me out.
Tilting my head, I ask, “Do you want me to dry your hair for you?”
Her features tighten, and she lowers her head again.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” I assure her. “Please go dry your hair.”
She quickly rushes back into the bathroom, and a moment later, I hear the hairdryer.