Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) Read Free Page A

taillights blurred by the rain makes me think of blood droplets. I remember the feeling of Francis Tate stabbing me and the heat of my blood as it seeped up onto my skin. I glance down at my shirt, expecting to see blood, but it’s completely clean. By the time I look up, the cars have begun to move again.
    The trail of blood droplets vanished as if they were washed away by the rain.

Chapter Four

Grace, 2014
    ( N ovember ; Sam’s House, Murray, Virginia)
    I WASN’T SURE how much space you would need,” Sam says, opening the top drawer of his oak dresser. “So, I cleared out this one and half the closet.”
    Sam’s house is an American Craftsman bungalow painted pale yellow with white window frames. A large window allows pedestrians to see what looks like a window display for a distinguished furniture store. They might think, what a nice place to live and they would be right. But they can’t feel the detached feeling the house has—there’s no personality, no photographs, nothing to signify it’s more than a presentation.
    The house is beautiful—everything was made with great attention to detail and everything follows the same earthy color pattern. It’s like a five-star hotel, relaxing and luxurious, but it doesn’t feel like home.
    Or maybe I’m just homesick for my family’s farm.
    “It’s perfect,” I tell him. “I probably won’t need that much space…I’ve donated a lot of my clothes when I moved from Ohio, and then I donated more before I packed up my stuff to come here. Where did you put your clothes that used to be in this dresser and the closet?”
    “Oh, I just boxed up my winter clothes…and some of my summer clothes.”
    I nod. “I really hate to inconvenience you—”
    “Grace, it’s not an inconvenience,” he says. “We both know that you couldn’t have stayed with the Schneiders much longer. Either you would have killed them or they would have killed you. This is the best option.”
    “I know…it’s just…unconventional. We’ve only known each other for a couple of months…”
    “Well, we’re unconventional people, so it works.”
    “True.”
    “You can take my bed,” he says. “I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”
    “What? No,” I say. “I’m the guest here. I should sleep on the couch. I’m not going to take your bed.”
    “I’ve spent a good portion of my life in college—thirteen years, in fact—I am used to sleeping in random places. I’ve fallen asleep on gurneys more times than I’d like to admit.”
    “Which is why you should sleep on a bed for the rest of your life.”
    “I’m fine, Grace,” he says. “Please, take the bed. It’s not a big deal.”
    I set down my suitcase and sit down on his bed. I pat the space beside me. “Or maybe we could share it.”
    He raises an eyebrow, but sits down beside me. “So, you’re apprehensive about moving into my house, but you’re okay with sharing a bed?”
    “Well, I don’t take up that much space on a bed.” lean toward him and kiss his lips. I feel his lips part and his warm breath ripples across my lips. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me closer. His hands slip under my blouse and trace along the scars on my abdomen. The scars are from when Francis stabbed me. I used to hate them, but Sam loves them in the same way he loves every other part of me—completely, reverently, passionately, so I’ve learned to accept them.
    His body presses against mine until my back is against the bed and he is leaning over me. He kisses the tip of my nose as his thumb caresses along my jaw. “Do you know what my life was like before you?”
    “Diagnosing and healing hearts?” I tease.
    He kisses the side of my mouth. “It was patients and schedules and appointments…and meetings. Nothing really mattered. There wasn’t any purpose. When I met you—I mean, after the shooting and we began to get to know each other—there was this feeling that I had found something that I never knew was missing. And