The One Worth Waiting For Read Online Free PDF Page A

hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white, the one scar standing out in rigid relief. “Mrtavi!”
    “Shhh,” she tried, abandoning the fallen cloth to place her hands on his shoulders instead. “It’s over now, Garret. It’s over.”
    But the words didn’t penetrate, and as she felt his body bow with unbelievable tension, she felt a moment of fear. He’d always been such a powerful presence.
    “Garret—” she began.
    He snapped, his body suddenly sinking back into the mattress like a marionette whose strings had been abruptly cut. His head rolled limply to the side, and she knew he’d fallen unconscious once more.
    Gingerly, she collected herself, finding her hands trembling violently against his shoulders. Fifteen years ago, she’d stood in awe of him. Because he was tall, dark and powerful, and because he could do things to Tank Nemeth she never would. Somehow, with the passing of time, she’d gotten herself to believe the impressions were only the exaggerated memories of a sixteen-year-old girl. After all, once she’d thought he was her white knight, as well. She’d dreamed that he would come back to save her from her dreary, lonely life.
    How mistaken she had been.
    But it appeared some things about Garret remained true. He was still huge, and he could still make her hands tremble. And he still left her with more questions than answers.
    She laughed suddenly, a small, rueful sound, as she dampened the washcloth again and spread it on his bruised forehead. So here was Garret Guiness, shot, feverish and unconscious.
    Leave it to Garret to actually return but give her no satisfaction in it whatsoever.
     
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
    A s usual, Suzanne woke up with the daybreak, the first few strands of the sun’s glimmering rays peeking through the simple white eyelet curtains on her window. She lay there for a long moment, feeling unusually groggy and disoriented. Abruptly, the memory surfaced: Garret was back.
    She frowned, and found herself staring at her motionless faded curtains while the July heat wrapped around her, warm and velvety.
    Generally, she didn’t lie around in her un-air-conditioned room contemplating her decor or the warm scent of roses in the morning air. Instead, she’d wake like an arrowshot, sliding out of bed and changing quickly while she contemplated meetings to attend, chores to do and people to call. She would put on her walking clothes and spend a brisk five miles every morning walking and plotting her day. Sometimes, if the day wasn’t too hectic, after walking and showering she would take her tea out on her back porch, admire her roses and bask in the sultry morning for a rare twentyminute break.
    But mostly she moved and ran and plotted. She went to bed with her list of things to do formulating in her mind, then awoke with her thoughts already halfway down the list. No one got things done like she did.
    But now, she remained sitting in her sleeveless cotton gown while the morning settled hot and humid around her. Because Garret had returned. Shot up and half-dead on her doorstep. What was a woman supposed to do with that?
    She’d checked on him each hour as she’d promised. And each hour, he’d responded with his name, even as the moments of cognizance had faded in and out. Sometimes, he’d looked her straight in the eye, and whispered words she didn’t understand. Other times, he’d thrown his head back and forth, the muscles on his neck cording like a wild stallion caught in the throes of a primal rage.
    The few words she did recognize were something about a car in the forest and whispered warnings about his mom and dad. At least during the last hour the color had gone down in his cheeks. Perhaps today the fever would finally relinquish its hold. She hoped so; he was sweating away a dangerous amount of fluid, and there were times she was sure he would tear the fragile IV needle from his hand with his fever-induced wars.
    But it appeared he’d survived the