Twisted Hearts: Book Three in the Savage Hearts Series by Mary E. Twomey

Twisted Hearts: Book Three in the Savage Hearts Series by Mary E. Twomey

Author:Mary E. Twomey [Twomey, Mary E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub


Picture Perfect


I trap my scream behind my lips as our log tips over the edge. It’s a good three stories we fall, and land with a splash below. The spray hits my face as if it’s laughing at my fright.

Finally, my tension dissipates. It’s a rush, but other than that, it was nothing to be scared of. Living with the guys has conditioned me to think that everything will be harrowing, and the stakes are far higher than mercy will allow.

Santos’ hand smooths over my face, being so conscientious as to wipe the droplets from my lashes so they don’t bother me too badly. At his touch, I remember that I am safe.

Fun isn’t anything I need to fear.

I stop myself short at that revelation. It’s been so very long since fun was a value I held as important. I’m not sure I even know how to go about enjoying myself without watching for a shadow over my shoulder, or worrying that I might break something important—like a person.

I remember dancing in the kitchen with my mom, making a mess and laughing because flour smudges on our faces were ridiculous, and so were we.

Without her, I started cowering away from people, afraid I might break them with a hug.

When we float to the end of the ride and the workers help us out, Santos starts signing to me, and then stops short. “I keep forgetting that I can talk out loud.” He smiles and shakes his head at himself as we make our way to the steps that lead downward. “Are you alright?”

I take stock of my faculties before answering. “You know, I think I am.” My gaze locks in on his, and more thoughts come to me. “I think I’m too serious. That’s not who I want to be—always afraid of my own strength. I didn’t used to be like this.”

When we reach the ground, Santos threads his fingers through mine as we walk. “I wouldn’t guess fear would be part of the equation when you’ve got that kind of muscle.”

I like walking beside Santos. We look so normal—holding hands through an amusement park.

“I hid from my strength so much that I never really learned how to use it, or how to be comfortable with it. Maybe I need to work on that, so I don’t fall apart whenever I’m confronted with it.” I swallow hard. “My mom kept me calm. I think I introverted too hard when she died.”

When I shiver, Santos pauses our walk. He jerks his head to the nearby bathrooms after he tugs his shirt over his head. “Take this into the bathroom and change. Your shirt is soaked.”

“What are you going to wear? I don’t think they let people walk around shirtless.”

He shrugs. “I’ll take yours.”

I snigger at his sweetness. “But then you’ll be wet.”

He lifts an eyebrow, as if to say, “so?”

My gaze falls to his naked torso, and I’m fairly certain there’s never been a prettier sight. I should remind him to put his shirt back on, but I can’t remember how to form simple words.


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