Blank Slate by Tiffany Snow Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t have it in her to
shoot him. He was just a cop doing his job. He didn’t deserve to die.
    The
gun felt comfortable in her hands. The act of shooting the thug who would’ve
killed her was not that bothersome. Both were facts that scared her if she dwelled
on them. So she didn’t.
    “You’re
bleeding, you know,” Langston said casually, motioning his head in her
direction. “All that fighting probably tore that wound open again.”
    Alarmed,
Clarissa glanced down. The T-shirt she wore was stained a garish red over the
gunshot wound, the blood having leaked through the bandage. The thin cotton
stuck wetly to her skin.
    “Oh
God,” she mumbled, the image blurring as her head swam.
    A
sound made her tear her eyes away from the sickening sight of blood leaking
from her body. She looked up just in time to see Langston launch himself at
her.
    Clarissa
cried out, the sound abruptly cut off as they crashed together to the floor,
his body landing on top and forcing all the air from her lungs. She tried to
bring the gun around, but his hands locked around her wrists, pinning them in
place above her head. He squeezed, the pressure increasing until she couldn’t
hold on to the weapon any longer. With a whimper, she was forced to drop it
from her grip.
    “Christ,
you’re dangerous,” Langston huffed.
    “I
wasn’t going to shoot you,” Clarissa said, struggling to breathe properly under
his weight.
    “You
could’ve fooled me,” he growled, regarding her with suspicion in his pale-blue
eyes.
    Clarissa
was abruptly aware of the fact that his body was pressed fully against hers. Lean
and hard, he was touching her everywhere. His thigh lay between her legs, the
breaths he took pushed his rib cage into hers, and his grip on her wrists
brought his face very near.
    She
wondered how much blood she’d lost that she was again contemplating his
attractiveness, even when he was pissed off. The day’s growth of whiskers
shadowing his jaw gave him an untamed look.
    The
atmosphere grew tense as they stared at each other and breathed. Clarissa could
feel the calloused roughness of his hands against her skin as the tight hold on
her wrists loosened ever so slightly. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, alarm
bells started going off in her head.
    “Could
you get off me now?” she blurted. “You weigh a ton.”
    Langston
sat up as though he’d been electrocuted, and Clarissa took the opportunity to take
a much-needed deep breath. The injury in her side gave a sharp pang and she winced.
    “Who
were they?” Langston asked, glad to hear the usual detachment had returned in
his voice. He took the gun from the floor and tucked it in the back of his
jeans.
    “I
don’t know,” she replied with a shrug, pushing herself to a sitting position. “They
said I’d stolen something from Solomon, wanted to take me to him, but I don’t
know what they were talking about.”
    “Don’t
know or can’t remember?” he retorted, standing to grab a kitchen towel and run
it under cold water.
    “Either.
Both,” she shot back. “I know you don’t believe me, but the first thing I
remember is waking up in the backseat of your car.”
    Erik
used the towel to carefully clean the blood from her abused lip and where it
had trailed down her chin. She didn’t speak or protest while he did this,
instead just allowing him to help her.
    Her
eyes were clear and guileless. A twinge of unease pricked him. What if she was
telling the truth? What if she really couldn’t remember her past?
    No.
It was bullshit. All of it. She lied for a living. It shouldn’t surprise him
that she was good at it. Telling the truth would be more of a stretch for
O’Connell than lying.
    “You’re
right,” he said. “I don’t believe you. And I don’t care. You just pulled a gun
on me. Why the hell would I believe you? What’s important to me now is getting
out of here before more of Solomon’s men show up.”
    Something
akin to hurt flashed across her face and was