Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Harper nods, and something softens within me. Don’t get me wrong, I sure as fuck haven’t changed my mind. This woman will be living with me by the end of the day, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take a moment to give her what she needs to be okay with this.
Scooping her back up into my arms, I stride across the small apartment and place her down on her kitchen counter, that bright green gaze locked on mine as I brace my hands on either side of her thighs, caging her in.
“My favorite color,” I start, “is jet black.”
Harper scoffs, interrupting before I get the chance to explain. “That’s not a proper favorite color. That doesn’t count.”
“It sure as fuck does,” I tell her, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of jet black hair off her face.
“Why? Because it matches my jet black soul?”
“No,” I say slowly, letting her hear the need in my tone. “It’s the color of your hair, and whenever I see it, I think of you, and the way I wanna curl it around my wrists and fuck you until your tight little cunt is squeezing my cock.”
Her cheeks flush, and she glances away, rolling her eyes. “Okay, whatever. Jet black can be your favorite color.”
I laugh but carry on. “The two guys who came to your hospital room—”
“Dumb and dumber?”
“Mm-hmm. Ace and Diesel. They’ve been my best friends since we were rookies, just starting out in the force. They’re my brothers. They’ve had my back, just as I’ve had theirs. They’re both part of my team, and now that you’re mine, they’re your brothers too.”
She arches her brow. “They’ll just welcome me with open arms despite not knowing a thing about me?”
I nod. “They know me, doll. They trust my judgment, and if you’re someone important to me, then you’ll be just as important to them. They will have your back, just as much as they have mine.”
“Wow.”
I nod again. “Anything I’m forgetting?”
“How you managed to get your ass shot three times,” she reminds me.
I let out a sigh and pull up my shirt, letting her see the first scar I received from a bullet on my hip, pointing it out so she can see it among the tattoos. “Courtesy of Ace during training camp,” I tell her, watching as she reaches out and brushes her fingers along the barely visible scar. “Complete accident. He was a lousy shot for a while.”
“You’re kidding?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I really fucking wish that I was.”
“And the second time?”
I turn and pull my shirt over my head, pointing out the second scar high on my back. “Hostage situation gone wrong. There was one bullet left in the chamber, and it was either going to be for me or the asshole’s daughter. He chose the daughter, but so did I.”
Harper sucks in a breath, and I turn back to see her horrified expression. “You took a bullet for a girl you didn’t know?”
I stare back at her, confused. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I . . .” she lets her thoughts fall away, her brows creased. “I suppose I’ve never had to think about it before. I’ve never been in a situation that would even resemble me having to make a call like that. But I guess I would. If it was either me or a child, I would take the bullet. At least, I’d like to think that I would be brave enough to do that.”
“You are, Harper,” I tell her. “Doing what I do, you quickly start to learn how to read people, learn things about them that they wouldn’t even know about themselves, and you would take that bullet without hesitation.”
She gives me a tight smile and nods before letting her fingers dance across my hip. “The third one?” she asks in a small tone, making me wonder if she truly wants to know anymore. After all, learning about the hard realities of what I do and the risks I take every single day aren’t easy.
“About eight years ago now,” I say, taking her hand and brushing it across the angry scar on my ribs. “This was the closest call I’ve had. Punctured a lung and had me on desk duty for three months. I almost ended up on one of your tables.”
“Shit,” she says, sucking in a deep breath. “And you do this every day? I just send you off to work knowing you might never come home again.”
“Yes,” I say, not sugarcoating it because honestly, that’s just the risk you take in my line of work. “But I expect you to trust that I have curated the best team members who are more than equipped to handle the situations we face daily. My team doesn’t make errors. We have each other’s backs, and we make sure that each and every one of us makes it home at the end of the day.”