No Angel Read Online Helena Newbury

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
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I tried to snap out of it. I really did. But before I could…he spoke.

“Well, well, well,” he said softly. “Look at you.”

I heard that voice and I was lost. It was as warmly intoxicating as bourbon. Refined, but there was something underneath, a delicious rough growl, as if he’d come from humble roots and educated himself. He spoke with absolute confidence and the syllables flowed together in dark poetry, wrapping around my body and drawing me in closer.

For a second, I felt something lift and swell inside me, innocent and shiny as a silver helium balloon. Then reality set in. Look at you? No one looks at me. He’s joking, you idiot.

The silver balloon popped, and as silver fragments drifted downward, they turned to heat that scalded my cheeks. I ducked my head and looked at the wound, wishing my hair wasn’t pulled back into a bun: I wanted it to fall forward and hide me.

The wound was low down on his abdomen: his orange jumpsuit had been slashed open and there was a wet, red stain around it. The jumpsuit’s zipper didn’t come down low enough for me to take a look. He’ll have to take it off. I willed my voice to be level and then opened my mouth to speak—

But the words never came out. Because when I glanced up to make eye contact, Gabriel was looking down at me, frowning. Concerned. Curious. And sort of stern, as if he was…angry?

Angry at whatever had popped that balloon inside me.

I swallowed, staring into those deep brown eyes and suddenly, I was getting that lift all over again, rising right up from my toes to my chest. This time, it tugged me upward until I thought my feet were going to leave the floor.

He gazed at me, studying me in a way no one ever had before. I didn’t understand. I don’t draw attention. I’m the opposite of that. But those eyes were so intense that I didn’t dip my head again. I let him look.

And he gave a tiny little nod. His face relaxed. That’s better.

I bit my lip. I could feel his gaze raking over my face, taking in every detail: my hair, my eyes…he paused on my lips, looking at them for a long time. Then his eyes flicked up to meet mine and he smiled as if he liked what he saw. I felt my face heat in a whole different way.

What’s going on?! I tore my eyes away from those glittering hazel pools, feeling half drunk, and drew in a shuddering breath. “Please take off your jumpsuit.”

That soft lower lip pouted and his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Why, Doc, we only just met. You don’t want to move a little slower? A good pinot noir, maybe some Bach…?”

Pinot noir? Bach? Most of the inmates here had gang tattoos and needle marks. Who was this guy? And that voice… There was a golden ripple of humor running through it, a playful teasing that went straight through all my normal barriers of cool professionalism and left me flustered and breathy. It felt like all my clothes were held on my body by a single red ribbon and his words were plucking at the bow.

“You’re bleeding,” I said weakly.

“I’ve had worse.” There was an irrepressible energy to him: I could feel it buzzing in the air, filling the room. He was excited as a child: all this was just a game to him. “What’s your name?”

“Doctor Truesdale will do fine. Please take off your jumpsuit.”

“That’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” He stretched out on the gurney, hands behind his head. He was injured and no doubt in pain: how could he be so relaxed? “You keep this place cleaner than a preacher’s conscience and you’re smart enough to be a doctor. Hardworking and clever…that probably means your folks were the same.” God, that voice. It was like a shaft of sunlight, warmly caressing me: I wanted to roll naked in it. “They’d want something class-ic and class-y, a short name, to balance Truesdale. And pretty, to match you.”

Pretty?! My hair isn’t golden or auburn or chestnut or any other color someone would write songs about. It’s black and long and it tangles like crazy. My skin’s deathly white and refuses to tan, so I have to huddle indoors through the long Arizona summers. I’m not lithe and toned, I’m all boobs and hips and I inherited my dad’s broad shoulders. On him and my three hulking, handsome brothers, they look strong and impressive but on me, they look awkward. And combined with my curves…I always feel like there’s too much of me.

“I’m guessing a vowel at each end,” said Gabriel. “Anna. Erica. How am I doing?”

My name is Olivia. “Not even close.” I lied. Louis caught my eye, silently asking if I wanted some help. But I shook my head: I was determined to deal with this myself. “Take off your jumpsuit,” I told him firmly.



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