Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Ethan?”
The room stayed quiet.
Had he stepped outside to make a call, worried he might wake me? Gone to pick up something for us to eat?
No, he hadn’t. His suitcase was gone.
He’d left me.
I kicked down the covers and leaped from the bed. The bathroom tile was cold on the soles of my feet, and my stomach was colder still when I realized my uniform was gone. He’d left my bra and shoes, but I had no pants. Only the oversized white shirt he’d lent me, the one that smelled like him.
Bastard. I was going to give him a gigantic piece of my mind next time I—
Oh. All the air left the room, and my knees folded so I sat on the edge of the bed. There wouldn’t be a next time. He’d said it himself. I don’t owe you anything.
There was a dull pain sinking inside me. Wasn’t this what I wanted? I was always the one who did the brushing off to avoid clingy complications or the threat of a relationship. Ethan had saved me the trouble.
So why did I have this stinging disappointment?
I’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he hadn’t even said goodbye. Confusion and anger fogged my thoughts, and my gaze drifted down to my left hand. It rested palm up on my knee so as not to aggravate the aching wound. At least he’d left me something to remember him by.
Asshole.
There was a brief knock at the door, followed by the sound of metal sliding into metal. A key unlocking the door. I launched to my feet once again, relieved the asshole had returned—
Except he hadn’t. It was the man from this morning, the British one we’d traded cars with. It took me a moment to realize it. He’d had a rough and rugged look about him then, but now he was all polished and wearing a suit.
His gaze slid over me while I was clad in the enormous t-shirt that was almost long enough to be a dress, but he didn’t seem fazed. He peered at me with only curiosity.
“Olivia,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, love. My name’s Fletcher.” He tossed a backpack on the bed beside me. “Clothes for you. Can you be quick about it? We’ve got a plane waiting on standby.”
“Where’s Ethan?”
Fletcher’s mouth opened but nothing came out.
Oh, holy fuck. My heart tripped over my mistake, making me blurt, “I mean, where’s Nathan?”
A slow, reassuring smile tilted his lips. “Ethan,” he clarified, “had to go. I’ll explain on the way to the airport. You should get dressed.”
Before I could say anything else, he stepped out and shut the door.
I pressed my lips together, and my focus turned to the backpack. There didn’t seem to be any other option. I yanked on the pair of black sweatpants and gray t-shirt that were inside, then stuffed Ethan’s white shirt into the main compartment. The intent was to keep it, although I had no idea why.
Two minutes later, I was out in the hall.
Fletcher had been curious of me before, but now he outright studied me. Had I sprouted a second head? Because that was how he looked at me, assessing every inch as if I were a puzzle he needed to solve.
We seemed to be close in age, although perhaps he was a few years older. Maybe he was even pushing forty. There was mischief in his bright blue eyes, and cunning too.
“We’re getting you out of Italy immediately. It’s not safe for either of you if you stay.” And then in direct conflict with what he’d just said, he approached and urged me back through the open doorway into the room. “But I need to see your hand first. I’d prefer not to do stitches in-flight.”
“I don’t need stitches.”
“Had extensive medical training, have we? Give it here.”
He held out his hand, demanding I show him. I turned my palm up and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as he gently examined it.
He said it almost begrudgingly. “You don’t need stitches.”
Even though he was a stranger and looked like he could overpower me easily, annoyance seeped into my voice. “Like I told you.”
Rather than get mad, a lazy smile widened on his face. “I see why he fancies you.”
My breath caught, and everything in the room went still. “He said that?”
Fletcher seemed to enjoy my shocked reaction. “Not with words, but his actions do. In fact, they speak volumes.”
“What the hell are you talking about? He left me here.”
“Only because he had to. He rather gave me the impression he was reluctant about that.”
The mischief in his eyes made me want to tap my internal horizon gauge to ensure it was working. I felt wildly off-kilter.
“Ready to shove off?” he asked.
I followed him down the stairs, toward the parking lot.
“He had to return to his cover,” he explained. “You’ll need to lay low until his work there is wrapped up.”