Last Chance Hero. Melinda Di LorenzoЧитать онлайн книгу.
panic washed through him.
His eyes flew around the outside yard in an arc, searching. No movement caught his eye. No flash of red hair. Nothing.
She had no idea of the danger she was in. That the man who’d attacked her was probably the least of her worries. The tip of the damned iceberg. If she’d taken off, she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of staying safe.
He spun back toward the house, and on the second sweep, he found her. She’d made it to the front porch, where she’d crouched down behind a bush. The gag had fallen from her mouth, but her hands were still bound, and she was eyeing him nervously.
Thank God.
But Donovan’s relief was short-lived.
Before he could say a word, Jordynn’s jaw dropped open, and a high-pitched scream filled the dawn air.
He sprang forward, intent on stopping the noise. Seeing little other choice, he yanked the discarded rag from the ground, then knelt down beside her and shoved it back toward her mouth. Her teeth gnashed down hard against his skin.
Pain shot through his hand, but the pang of guilt at his own invasive action was worse. This was the woman he’d promised his heart to a decade ago. Just thinking about hurting her made his gut twist. Actually doing it was like a knife with a jagged edge, slamming into his rib cage.
Forcefully, Donovan pushed both the guilt and the physical pain to the back of his mind. He had to make her stop. To make her listen.
So tell her what happened.
But he couldn’t make himself do it. Not yet. Not like this.
As she continued to yell, punctuated now by gasping breaths, he held fast to the cloth, then gripped her head and worked the fabric between her lips. He got it all the way in, and held it there until she stopped struggling. Without letting go, he leaned back just enough to give her some space, but not so far that she could make an escape attempt. She sat still, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Donovan relaxed his grip a little, inhaling deeply. It was a mistake. Her sweet scent filled his nose—she wore the same delicately floral perfume he remembered so well. The light aroma that sometimes seemed to linger in the air when he woke from a pleasant dream.
Startled by his strong reaction, Donovan lost his grip on her completely. She jerked away, then sent a vicious kick at his knee—forceful enough to knock him to the side—then scrambled in the other direction, hitting the patio with a muffled cry.
Bloody hell.
Donovan shot up. Three long strides brought him to her side. With a grunt, he leaned down, grabbed her elbows and dragged her to her feet. She tried to yank herself away yet again. Donovan held firm.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said, his voice soft and even. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I want to take that gag out and untie your hands. But first, you need to promise me you aren’t going to scream. Can you do that?”
She kept her eyes shut. Like maybe she could will the sight of him away. After a second, though, she nodded once.
Gently, Donovan reached out to tug the cloth from her mouth. He felt her tense as he did it, and he couldn’t blame her. The situation was surreal for him, too, and he wasn’t the one being visited by someone he thought to be dead.
Wordlessly, he moved behind her, his fingers seeking her wrists. Even though he’d touched her twice over the past few minutes, this time it was different. Maybe because of the intention behind it. Donovan held the zip tie between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing it repeatedly to make it weak. He could feel the thrum of Jordynn’s pulse underneath his attention, and even though he knew it had to be the result of her nerves, it sent heat through his own veins. With gritted teeth, he continued to work until he was satisfied that he’d compromised the plastic enough to break it. Then he lifted his leg and slapped her wrists against his knee. The cord snapped with almost no resistance, and Donovan stepped away.
“You okay?” he asked.
She drew in an audible breath. “You’re not him.”
“Jordynn.” He turned her around to face him.
She shook her head, and continued to hold her eyes closed. “Please don’t be real.”
“Jordynn—”
“Stop saying my name.”
Her voice held a tiny bit of rebellion, and part of Donovan was glad to see she was as strong-willed as ever. A bigger part of him was worried that the longer they stayed on her lawn with an unconscious man at their feet, the longer they’d risk being caught. The longer he’d risk being caught. He sure as hell hadn’t come all this way to let that happen.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“Were you in my house?”
Donovan frowned at the seemingly unrelated reply. “Yes, but—”
“How did you get in?”
“The key you keep inside the garden gnome.”
“When’s my birthday?”
He smiled. “December 20. But you celebrate it on June 20 so no one tries to double up your birthday and Christmas gifts.”
At last, she lifted her lids. Her too-blue eyes went wide. She stared at him for three long heartbeats. Then her baby blues rolled back in her head. She slumped to the side, and Donovan caught her. With a sigh that was one part pleasure, one part resignation and one part worry, he lifted her gently with both arms, snagged her discarded shoe from the grass and started up the walkway.
And he had to admit, holding her close made him feel like no time had passed at all.
At first, Jordynn thought she was dreaming.
After all, that’s where she always saw him. Where her subconscious reigned, and the decades-old heartbreak couldn’t quite be buried.
She inhaled deeply, trying to orient herself. Instead, she got a whiff of something sharply sweet, and recognized it right away as coming from the not-so-secret stash of brandy her mom had always kept in the cabinet beside the TV. Immediately, her eyes flew open. And that distinct, familiar gaze met hers.
Donovan Grady’s hazel eyes.
The ones she’d seen just before all the blood rushed to her head and she fainted.
And Jordynn didn’t just think she was dreaming. She knew it.
But if you’re dreaming...then how come you saw his eyes before you passed out?
Panic hit her. She attempted to sit up, but only made it as far as an elbow before her head swam again. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a warm hand—Donovan’s hand—slipped to the back of her neck and eased her down again. His touch lingered. She let it. She wanted so badly for it to be real. Tears pricked at her lids.
“Look at me.” Donovan’s voice.
Her heart thundered in her chest. And she refused to obey. She wouldn’t look. She wouldn’t open her eyes and find him there. She wouldn’t see his ghost. If she stayed still for long enough, the dream would fade and so would the sadness.
“C’mon,” he said.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I need to make sure you’re okay.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. Please.”
In spite of her desire to keep them shut, his pleading tone made her open them. Though her vision blurred, she still had a decent view of the big man in front of her. He sat beside her on a chair, his knees brushing the edge of the couch