Read Online Collector's Item by Denise Golinowski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denise Golinowski
Ads: Link
hugged her tight.
Andi cringed beneath KT’s skin, but KT leaned against her father recognizing the love behind the threat. “I’m fine. Peyton was there to protect me, along with an entire platoon of rangers.”
“If it hadn’t worked. If Torne had managed to take you—” Anton stopped and squeezed her tighter.
“I’m fine.” KT rubbed her father’s back and he eased his grip on her. “Peyton’s still out.”
Anton’s voice took on a more natural tone of authority. “I’ve talked to his doctor. Captain Allers is getting the best of care. They assure me he’ll make a complete recovery.”
“He hasn’t woken up for more than a few moments since they brought him upstairs,” she said into the lapel of his suit. Peyton had been so still and pale when they wheeled him in from recovery. “They’re keeping him heavily sedated. Something about paranormals, particularly military-trained paranormals, trying to get out of bed far too soon.”
Anton chuckled against the top of her head. “I’ve heard it’s a compulsion of all military-trained, human and paranormal. Too stubborn or gung-ho to listen to the doctors.” He gave her a final hug before he released her. She stepped back and gestured to the couch.
When they settled down, side by side, she could not help contrasting his freshly laundered suit and her rumpled, borrowed scrubs. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.
“He’s an interesting man, your Peyton Allers,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “I looked into his record. He’s had over a dozen commendations for bravery and valor. And almost two dozen formal reprimands for insubordination and failure to follow orders.”
See, your sire knows.
KT pushed away from her father’s, and Andi’s, assertion. “He’s not my Peyton Allers.”
Her father nodded as he let his arm slide off her shoulders. “Of course not. A figure of speech, nothing more.”
His voice sounded too smooth, too politic. She looked at him, but he turned toward the door and motioned. “I brought you some clothes.”
His bodyguard/assistant, Clemmons, stepped inside the open doorway, a garment bag folded over his arm. Her father turned back, his gaze encompassing her clothes. “While I know scrubs are a sub-cultural fashion statement, I thought you’d prefer your own clothing.”
“Glad to see you safe and sound, Miss KT.” With a nod and a smile, Clemmons put the bag on a chair before he resumed his post outside.
“Thank heavens!” KT gave her father a quick hug and sprang to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
Later, her hair smoothed into a chignon at the base of her neck, and wearing a pair of fresh jeans with a light weight sweater, KT returned to find her father reading a financial paper.
Two thick porcelain coffee mugs sat on the low table in front of him. One held black coffee, espresso strong, if she knew him, and she did. A metal travel thermos stood to one side, with matching sugar and cream dispensers. A cardboard box, lid flexed open, revealed a stack of golden croissants. KT sank onto the cushions, torn between fixing her coffee or taking a bite of pastry.
“Go on. Eat something.” Her father set his paper aside and picked up the empty cup. He filled it from the thermos, added two scoops of sugar and a liberal dose of cream before placing it in front of her.
KT picked up a pastry and bit into the flaky crust. Rich, dark chocolate melted on her tongue amid flakes of airy crust. She purred with pleasure. “Cynthia made these,” she said, the words only slightly garbled.
Cynthia Dyson was their cook, back at the compound. She was a world-class chef, but her first love was pastries. KT had spent hours in the kitchen watching the older woman create the most delicious desserts.
“Of course. She wouldn’t let me leave without them,” her father replied as he picked up his own mug.
KT could well imagine Cynthia pushing the box of pastries into her father’s
Andi cringed beneath KT’s skin, but KT leaned against her father recognizing the love behind the threat. “I’m fine. Peyton was there to protect me, along with an entire platoon of rangers.”
“If it hadn’t worked. If Torne had managed to take you—” Anton stopped and squeezed her tighter.
“I’m fine.” KT rubbed her father’s back and he eased his grip on her. “Peyton’s still out.”
Anton’s voice took on a more natural tone of authority. “I’ve talked to his doctor. Captain Allers is getting the best of care. They assure me he’ll make a complete recovery.”
“He hasn’t woken up for more than a few moments since they brought him upstairs,” she said into the lapel of his suit. Peyton had been so still and pale when they wheeled him in from recovery. “They’re keeping him heavily sedated. Something about paranormals, particularly military-trained paranormals, trying to get out of bed far too soon.”
Anton chuckled against the top of her head. “I’ve heard it’s a compulsion of all military-trained, human and paranormal. Too stubborn or gung-ho to listen to the doctors.” He gave her a final hug before he released her. She stepped back and gestured to the couch.
When they settled down, side by side, she could not help contrasting his freshly laundered suit and her rumpled, borrowed scrubs. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.
“He’s an interesting man, your Peyton Allers,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “I looked into his record. He’s had over a dozen commendations for bravery and valor. And almost two dozen formal reprimands for insubordination and failure to follow orders.”
See, your sire knows.
KT pushed away from her father’s, and Andi’s, assertion. “He’s not my Peyton Allers.”
Her father nodded as he let his arm slide off her shoulders. “Of course not. A figure of speech, nothing more.”
His voice sounded too smooth, too politic. She looked at him, but he turned toward the door and motioned. “I brought you some clothes.”
His bodyguard/assistant, Clemmons, stepped inside the open doorway, a garment bag folded over his arm. Her father turned back, his gaze encompassing her clothes. “While I know scrubs are a sub-cultural fashion statement, I thought you’d prefer your own clothing.”
“Glad to see you safe and sound, Miss KT.” With a nod and a smile, Clemmons put the bag on a chair before he resumed his post outside.
“Thank heavens!” KT gave her father a quick hug and sprang to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
Later, her hair smoothed into a chignon at the base of her neck, and wearing a pair of fresh jeans with a light weight sweater, KT returned to find her father reading a financial paper.
Two thick porcelain coffee mugs sat on the low table in front of him. One held black coffee, espresso strong, if she knew him, and she did. A metal travel thermos stood to one side, with matching sugar and cream dispensers. A cardboard box, lid flexed open, revealed a stack of golden croissants. KT sank onto the cushions, torn between fixing her coffee or taking a bite of pastry.
“Go on. Eat something.” Her father set his paper aside and picked up the empty cup. He filled it from the thermos, added two scoops of sugar and a liberal dose of cream before placing it in front of her.
KT picked up a pastry and bit into the flaky crust. Rich, dark chocolate melted on her tongue amid flakes of airy crust. She purred with pleasure. “Cynthia made these,” she said, the words only slightly garbled.
Cynthia Dyson was their cook, back at the compound. She was a world-class chef, but her first love was pastries. KT had spent hours in the kitchen watching the older woman create the most delicious desserts.
“Of course. She wouldn’t let me leave without them,” her father replied as he picked up his own mug.
KT could well imagine Cynthia pushing the box of pastries into her father’s
Similar Books
