Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Stop noticing. Stop feeling. Just keep her alive.
It’s impossible not to notice. Impossible not to feel every inch of her against every inch of me. The soft weight of her breasts. The smooth skin of her stomach pressed against mine. The way her legs are tucked between my thighs, so close to—
I close my eyes and focus on counting my breaths. On the crackle of the fire. On anything except the growing pressure in my boxers and the fact that I’m holding a nearly naked woman who hates me.
A nearly naked woman I’m going to marry.
A nearly naked woman who will eventually be mine in every way.
The thought doesn’t help. At all.
This is my fault. I pushed her too hard, too fast. I should have given her more time to process everything. Should have been less brutal with the threats. Should have—
Should have what? Let her go? Told her the truth about why I can’t kill her?
That my obsession and need have grown out of control. That the fiasco with Martin gave me the perfect opening. Admitted that somewhere between the night in my truck and the night at her door, she stopped being a witness and started being something else entirely?
No. That’s worse. She’d use it against me, use it to manipulate her way free. And then my father would kill us both.
This is the only way. Marriage, possession, claiming her as mine, it’s the only way to keep her alive. Even if she hates me for it. Even if she’d rather die than accept it.
Too fucking bad. She doesn’t get to die. Not while I’m still breathing.
Minutes pass. Could be five, could be twenty. Time loses meaning when you’re holding someone on the edge of death, willing them to come back. The fire crackles beside us, heat radiating across my back. I keep Saint pressed tight against my chest, my body a furnace surrounding her.
Every shift of her body against mine is torture. Sweet, agonizing torture. Her skin is warming now, no longer the shock of cold but the slow return of blood flow, of life. And with the warmth comes sensation, not just for her, but for me. The soft give of her flesh under my hands. The way she fits against me like she was made for this, despite the circumstances. The little sounds she makes as her body fights hypothermia.
I’m hard. Fully, achingly hard. There’s no hiding it, no adjusting away from it. My cock presses against her hip, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it except hate myself for it.
She’s dying, and I’m turned on. She’s hypothermic, and my body wants to claim her. She ran into a blizzard to escape me, and all I can think about is how right she feels in my arms.
I’m fucked up. Completely fucked up.
Slowly, so slowly, her skin starts to warm. Soon enough, the deadly blue tinge fades from her lips and color creeps back into her cheeks.
She starts to shake.
Violent, full-body tremors rack her entire frame. I hold her through it, relief flooding me even as the movement presses her against my erection. Her breasts slide against my chest with each shudder. Her thighs clench and unclench against me. It’s innocence and sin all tangled together, and I’m drowning in it.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend. “Come back to me, sweet girl.”
Focus on her face. On her breathing. On anything except the fact that this is the most intimacy I’ve had with her, and she’s not even conscious enough to know it’s happening.
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first and glittering with confusion. Then awareness returns, and with it, her memory. She stiffens in my arms, and that sudden tension presses her even more firmly against me.
She has to feel it now. Has to feel exactly what holding her like this is doing to me.
“Wh-where—” Her voice is hoarse, barely there.
“The cabin. You’re safe.”
“Not s-safe.” She tries to pull away, but her body won’t cooperate. The shivering is too violent, her strength completely sapped. Then she goes very still, and I know the exact moment she realizes our situation. Nearly naked. Pressed together. My obvious arousal digging into her hip.
Her eyes widen. “You’re—”
“I know.” I don’t apologize. Can’t lie about it. “My body’s responding. I can’t exactly control it.”
Color floods her cheeks, not from cold this time, but from embarrassment. Or maybe anger. Hard to tell with Saint. “Let m-me go.”
“Can’t do that.” I adjust my hold, trying to ease some of the pressure but only managing to slide her body against mine in ways that make my breath catch. “You’re hypothermic. You need body heat, or you could die. So stop fighting and let me warm you up.”
“D-don’t want—” She shivers again, violently and full-bodied, which presses her breasts harder into my chest. Her nipples, tight from the cold, drag across my skin, and I have to bite back a groan.