Frisked in Fondant: Tulle and Tulips, Book 6 Read Free

pulled her flesh together for each butterfly stitch.
    When she was stitched up and they’d wrapped a bandage around her neck to keep the wound clean, Gilman checked her pupils again. “They’re responding better, but I’d still feel better if you went to the hospital to get checked out.”
    She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
    Kyle admired her strength and was concerned with any injuries they couldn’t see. He also wanted to see her relax so he could get more information out of her, and the tension in her body when they mentioned the hospital suggested a visit there would only make matters worse. “Give me instructions, and I’ll keep an eye on her.”
    The words crossed his lips while the recognition of a line being crossed snapped into focus. Professionalism dictated he call the sketch artist, get CSI out, and then leave. The quicksand of complicated involvement had sucked him in the moment he’d seen Gisella in the pictures.
    She’d appealed to and scared him at the wedding. Everything about her shouted involvement when all he wanted was some good times. Or, he had. Now, after holding Lisa’s baby—his goddaughter—once, he wasn’t sure he was interested in no strings. Knowing he wanted involvement on a deeper level didn’t make taking chances less terrifying.
    Gisella Sands defined terrifying.

Chapter Two
    Gisella agreed with every dictate the paramedics made. Half their instructions escaped her memory as soon as they were muttered. Nothing mattered more than the paramedics and officers leaving. Only then would she check on her jewelry. Jewelry that had been her mom’s.
    It had taken everything she had to not tell the robbers where it was. Or to resist looking in the general direction of the pantry when they’d dragged her into the kitchen to search.
    Broken dishes, scattered Tupperware, and baking ingredients had been tossed about in their search. Like any self-respecting baker would allow perfectly good flour to be wasted on hiding something. She would be forever moving the jewels from one bag to another, or be fighting weevils from having open flour sitting around.
    “Gisella?” Kyle pulled her attention back to him. She blinked and angled her head to show he had her attention.
    “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
    Words meant to comfort shouldn’t awaken fear, but Kyle’s awakened a flash of terrifying memory. Her body tensed to the point where holding herself upright took too much effort, so she dropped her head onto the table.
    Nausea rolled in her stomach. She wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes and drew into as small a version of herself as possible. It made no difference.
    Her home had been compromised. She’d been left behind. She didn’t mind being alone, if she was the one who did the leaving. Every time someone she might care about, someone she trusted, left a room before her, a grain of doubt shifted in her mind.
    Would she see them again? Would they return?
    Kyle’s departing back shifted those doubts to the forefront, but why? Sure. The sense of safety enveloped her when he was beside her. She barely knew him though. He’d been nice at Darci’s wedding, and she hadn’t imagined the shared chemistry. A few times she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. He hadn’t.
    If he didn’t want her, if she’d imagined the chemistry—a conclusion she’d reached when he didn’t kiss her or call—why did she worry now if he wouldn’t come back? Why was the idea of him not returning unsettling?
    She moaned, fighting the pull of exhaustion and ugly dreams expected to follow. Her throat hurt, the skin was stiff and pulled with the smallest flexion. Her side hurt—tender and bruised, likely from slamming against a table. Pain brought the past closer.
    Stay put. I’ll be right back. Words, uttered so many years ago and then more recently, revolved in her head. They offered no comfort.
    “Gisella.” A tender touch brushed her arm. A man’s voice swept her consciousness