Harris (Alpha One Security #1)

By: Jasinda Wilder



Yet I need it. Cannot fight my body’s reaction to such raw, masculine, sexual, sensual primacy.

I grab a throw pillow from the couch, cross my arms over it, bury my face in the scratchy fabric, and let myself cry. The camera is behind me; it will only see me sitting on the couch, finally processing the events of the morning. It will only see me engaging in a normal, natural reaction to trauma.

I shake all over, shaking so hard my joints hurt, sobbing into the pillow. Alone, I can strip off the armor.

It isn’t until I’ve nearly cried myself out that it hits me: That was the first time in recent memory that a visit came and went, and I remained fully clothed the entire time. An anomaly.

I let my tears dry, find my breath, find my equilibrium. Set aside the pillow. Stand up, shake my hands and toss my hair. No more weakness. Not even alone.

I glance at the clock; it is 7:48 a.m. What am I going to do with the rest of the day? I’ve never had a whole day to myself. It should a luxury, a precious gift.

It isn’t.

A whole day, alone with my thoughts?

I am terrified.

Silence breathes truth; solitude breeds introspection.


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