Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“I had to firmly insist that I could assist her,” Viktor reports.
“Uh-huh.” It’s all I can utter, too confused. Yet, I can already tell she’s stubborn. Oddly independent, too, fussing about the floor being wet or messy due to her entrance rather than emphasizing she was hurt. “Are you hurt?” I ask again.
“No.” She shakes her head but winces again. “Uh. No. A little whiplash, but I think it’s more the adrenaline and shock of hitting that car.” Her face falls with guilt. “Your car, probably.” She swallows, and I can’t help tracking the flex of her neck. Smooth skin. Flawless, unmarred.
“Can you sit?” Viktor asks.
She shakes her head, tearing her blue gaze from me. “No. I don’t want to be a bother.”
I huff a laugh. “It’s a bother to sit but it’s not a bother to hit my car?”
Freezing in place and cringing, she faces me and sighs. “Look. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” She lifts her hands like a truce. “I’m sorry I caused damage, and I’ll pay for it. All of it.”
“It sounds like an accident,” I reply, studying her some more. She’s young, no doubt about that, but so damn…
Fuck.
She’s breathtaking. And scared, the way she keeps apologizing. But tough, too. Each time she faces me head-on and locks that dark-blue stare on me, it pierces me and pins me to the need to look my fill of her again. Not once has she shied away or cowered, bravely owning up to the crash.
“I didn’t mean to hit your car.”
I almost smile. It’s somehow pleasing that she’s not shoveling blame on anyone else like so many others do. “That also sounds like the definition of an accident.”
She nods, but it’s too curt and polite to come across as an overeager agreement to appease me. “It is. It was.”
“But why are you here?”
“Oh.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Sorry. Of course you’re confused. I recently stayed here as a guest over the holidays and I left some belongings. I came to collect them, but with the snow and how icy the road is…” She lets her shoulders fall. Her gray scarf that’s loosely looped around her neck drops more. “The weather sort of changed my plan to step in and get my things and go again. In and out.”
“You can’t be out now,” Viktor says.
She resumes trying to shed the snow under the back of her shirt. As she opens her mouth to reply, he shakes his head and faces me. “Her car is totaled.”
“I’ll pay for it,” she cuts in. “I mean, obviously. I’ll pay for my car. And yours.”
“I mean it’s not drivable,” Viktor says.
I watch her, still piecing it together. “I’m not following. Where’s your coat?”
She clamps her mouth shut.
“She used it to punch the glass out,” Viktor states. “The security cameras aren’t picking up motion with the snow. I think she was out there for a while before I realized it.”
I raise my brows. Tough and gorgeous. Something about her seems familiar, perhaps her voice. With this immediate attraction charging my blood and waking me up fast, I know that if I’ve ever met her before, I wouldn’t have forgotten her.
“Yeah. I, uh, I was stuck. My door wouldn’t open with how I crashed. I tried to lower the window and crawl out, but the battery was dead. So I punched the window until it gave way, and I crawled out, hence the snow down my shirt, and then he came out and…” Peering up at me as she trails off, she pauses.
I blink once. “You couldn’t have just opened the passenger door?”
She shakes her head. “When he said I totaled my car, he meant I really crumpled it.”
I resist the urge to laugh. She’s flustered, distracted, but not freaking out. It’s been a while since I’ve met someone this down-to-earth, able to roll with the punches. It’s been even longer since I’ve met a woman who doesn’t trip over her own feet and gawk at me.
“So, again. I’m sorry. I’ll cover the damages, and if I can get service and reception out here, I’ll call for a ride and be out of your way.”
Viktor holds up his phone. “Not getting anything yet.”
“I imagine you’re not,” I reply. “The weather app was glitching on me, too.”
“Oh.” She tucks her long golden hair back behind her ear. “Well, um, as soon as I can, I’ll—”
“You’ll relax,” I declare. “You’ll stay here and relax, Miss…?”
“Baranova. Liliana Baranova.” She furrows her brow. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not.” I look her over once more, taking in her disheveled appearance. Wet boots, scratched-up black tights, a short skirt, and a white blouse that’s more wet and transparent than not, giving me a preview of the lacy bra she seems to think is enough to hold in her generous breasts. Her scarf droops further, as if to demonstrate how much of a mess she is.