Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Control.
Find some control.
I could so easily ruin this.
Don’t ruin this.
“So, um…” She stands in front of the couch, wringing her hands. “Do you want to sit down?”
I wrestle back the dishonorable impulse to throw her over my shoulder, stride to the bedroom probably located at the end of the short hallway and take what I need so badly. Take what she hasn’t offered me yet. That’s not the man you used to be. Don’t prove right the people who treated you like an animal by becoming one. Somehow, I manage to hold off the urge and go closer, joining her in front of the couch. I sit down slowly, concentrating on keeping my hands to myself. Concentrating on not slaking myself.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down beside me, our thighs an inch apart. “You seem really tense.”
I want to be honest with July at all times, the way she’s been so honest with me, so I search for the words to describe how I’m feeling. Without scaring her. “I’ve been living without necessities for so long…starved and beaten. Reduced to needs, like food, water, warmth. Survival. Then suddenly I have a soft, beautiful girl in front of me in her pretty apartment and I’m trying to stop thinking in terms of immediate needs and enjoy the journey, the moment, you…it’s just hard. To be normal.”
“Maybe it’ll get easier as we spend more time together.” Her cheeks darken with color, her mouth opening and closing. “I mean, if you want to spend more time—”
“I stalked you to the train and all but demanded you take me home, July. I don’t know how to make it any clearer that I want all your time to myself.”
She nods, squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I guess because I’ve never had a man in my apartment.”
“Interesting first choice.” Her laugh slides around in my belly, kicking my pulse into a heavier rhythm. I can do this. I can make her not regret me. Maybe. “July…”
She turns to face me, one of her knees coming to rest on the couch, the shadow between her thighs becoming a painful distraction. If that skirt was one inch higher, I’d finally know what kind of panties she wears. God, I want to know so badly. The color, the material, the cut. “Yes?” she prompts me.
I clear my throat hard, holding on to what I want to say. “I want you to know I’m not just…some crazy man walking around Chicago who fixated on you. At least, that’s not all I am,” I say wryly, dragging a hand down my face. This is going great, idiot. “I’m an investor in a private security company. Some of my Army buddies started the business while I was in recovery and it’s rolling now. They want me to oversee Chicago operations while they branch out in Philadelphia next.”
“Theo, that’s great.”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you seem excited?”
I hesitate. “I need to pass a psych eval before they’ll hand over the reins. It’s not unusual. They all took it themselves. But, uh…”
“You’re not sure you’ll pass it just yet,” she finishes, softly.
My chest is starting to ache, the sounds of gunfire, screaming, the smell of smoke and rotting flesh. All of it invades me at once. “Yeah. I can’t see how I will. Which means I’m going to need a lot of therapy fist.”
Slowly, she lets her knee touch my thigh and I’m almost caught off guard by the amount of support that single touch gives me. Not necessarily comfort, because I still want to rip her clothes off, but her knee against my thigh makes me feel…steadier.
“Have you talked to anyone at all?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I know it helps a lot of guys, but I can’t listen to someone sitting in a leather armchair in an air-conditioned office tell me how I’m feeling and why. I just can’t take it seriously. They weren’t there.”
“I understand. Your experience was unthinkable. Someone trying to relate to it in such a controlled environment is probably hard to bear.”
“Exactly.” Relief swamps me. She gets it. I want to keep going, because her intuitive manner makes me want to unload my baggage. I don’t want her to feel bad for me or feel bad for any reason, though, so I change the subject. “You read all those books?”
July glances over at the shelves, wincing slightly. “Half of them, probably. I get a little overzealous at the bookstore. But I justify the expense by reminding myself that I skip the happy hours and girl trips my co-workers invite me on.”
“Why do you skip them?”
“I always feel out of place.” A line forms between her brows while she thinks. “I’m not being myself in those big groups. I’m trying too hard to be interesting and fun and appeal to everyone at once. It’s exhausting. It doesn’t come naturally.”