Stranger Series Box Set by Heather C. Myers

Author:Heather C. Myers [Myers, Heather C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-08-11T23:00:00+00:00

18

It was five a.m., and Jane was up, tears in her eyes. Her back hurt more than it had been, and she wondered if she strained it too much the previous day. She was currently on her stomach—an uncomfortable position for anyone with big boobs—but she couldn’t move lest she risk more pain flooding her senses. She didn’t even remember how the pain started; all she knew was that she had been asleep, something woke her up, and she couldn’t reclaim that slumber.

You should consider calling for Depogare, a voice pointed out.

Jane refused. She didn’t want to wake Depogare and ask him to help her. She wasn’t quite sure how he would, anyway. This was something she would simply have to suffer through by herself. Certainly it would die down, and she could go back to sleep.

Except it didn’t, and before Jane could stop herself, a tiny cry of release emerged from her throat. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent any more sound from being emitted, but it was too late. The damage was done.

“Jane?” Depogare asked from the doorway, his eyes half-mast. He was leaning against the frame, clearly having just woken up and probably thinking something bad was happening to her, rushed to her room without thinking.

His hair was the messiest she had ever seen it, dark copper strands going every which direction, and he wore simple pajama pants. They were black in color, and were neither loose nor tight. He didn’t wear any socks, it would seem, even in winter. And he also did not wear a shirt. His torso was completely bare.

The sight caused the pain to pause, albeit briefly, so she could take the sight of him in and commit it to memory because she absolutely knew she would never see it again. His skin tone matched that of his face—it wasn’t a shade lighter—and he had tattoos everywhere. They all seemed to be in the same style as the cross on his forearm, and she wondered if they had anything to do with his Russian upbringing. Despite his Southern accent, Depogare was Russian, and had been around in the days of Anastasia. His chest and stomach were toned; he even had a six packed of well-developed abdominal muscles. His shoulders were broad, his arms defined. She would give anything to see what his back looked like, but knew she was pressing her luck even now.

“Jane?” he asked, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “What is the matter?”

“I—” Even the word that came out of her mouth sounded painful, and she had to stop herself from crying out.

This seemed to wake Depogare up more than anything. “You’re in pain?” he asked. When she nodded, he walked in and grabbed a container that had been left on the dresser. He didn’t even question the fact that she had been staring at him or that he wasn’t wearing a shirt; he took the container and proceeded to read the instructions as he took his usual seat by her bedside.

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