Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
He stared at the fire too, his hands rubbing together. “You’re a good father.”
I watched the flames burn lower, getting closer to the soot-covered logs.
“Are you screwing her?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
I turned back to him, my eyes as cold as the frost against the windows.
He continued his stare, pressing the question.
“She’s the nanny.”
“So?”
I shook my head and looked at the fire again. “Not my type.”
“Well, she’s definitely my type, so can I—”
“No.”
“You don’t want her, so what’s—”
I turned back to him. “This discussion is over.”
“So, you do want her, then.”
“The woman is fucking traumatized, and you want to hit on her?”
“She seems fine—”
“She’s not. Nearly has a panic attack every time I leave.” I knew she was still adjusting, and the last thing she wanted was some guy asking her out for a drink. “Make her uncomfortable and I’ll make you uncomfortable, alright?”
Bleu finally abandoned the topic by raising his hands in surrender. “Damn…alright, then.”
25
Constance
I wasn’t sure what it was that woke me up.
The heater kicking on. The scratching of a tree branch against the windowpane. Or just a dream.
Whatever it was, my eyes opened.
They immediately went to the window across the room like I already knew something was there. The curtains were slightly parted, open enough to reveal the figure standing there in the darkness.
I blinked a few times.
I breathed a few times.
And then I saw it.
That fucking smile.
The scream that left my mouth was instinctual, and I toppled out of bed as I reached for the knife that I left at my bedside every night. I rolled in the blanket and hit the rug around my bed. The lamp fell over and made a loud crash.
Hidden in the covers and the dark, I searched for the knife, the only defense I had. “Where the fuck is it?” I threw the covers aside and finally grabbed it, in just my underwear and a black camisole that had rolled up to my rib cage as I’d scrambled for the weapon.
I seized the knife by the hilt and held it at the ready, as if Forneus would break through the glass to get me.
The door flung open, and I let out another cry.
It was Benton, in nothing but his black boxers, a soldier who only needed his muscles as armor. His blue eyes were lethal, his body tight, ready to kill someone.
“The window…” I pointed with the knife. “He was looking at me through the window.”
He immediately yanked the curtains apart and looked outside.
I pushed myself to my feet and set the dagger on the nightstand because I didn’t need it anymore.
I had him.
He moved from one window to the next, checking the darkness.
The threat was over, but I still breathed like it had just begun.
Benton returned to me once the search was over. “It was a dream.”
“What…?”
“I get them too.”
“No, I saw him.”
“He wouldn’t risk everything to come to my home and stare at you through a window.”
Speechless, I just breathed, hyperventilated. “Don’t do that…don’t do that.”
His eyes flicked back and forth as he looked into mine.
“The police did that… They didn’t believe me…” Tears welled in my eyes. “He was there. I promise you, he was there—”
“Alright.” He raised his hand to silence me before he left my bedroom.
I grabbed the knife and followed him, unsure what was happening.
We moved to the front door.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to check.”
“But you aren’t wearing any clothes—”
“I don’t need clothes.” He opened the door and moved down the stairs, a muscled shadow. “Lock the door behind me.”
I didn’t hesitate before I did as he asked.
With the knife in my hand, I stood there. I listened to my own breathing. I listened for any outside sound I could detect. I checked behind me like Forneus was already in the house. The drumming of my heart was going to kill me.
Minutes passed.
Nothing but silence.
Then Benton’s voice came through the door. “It’s me.”
I flicked the locks and yanked the heavy door open, the cold air hitting me in the face like a sledgehammer. My eyes scanned around him, expecting a dead body on the porch, then I looked at him, expecting blood on his knuckles and chest. There was nothing.
He came inside and locked the door behind him.
“What happened?”
He faced me again, his shoulders rounded and strong, his biceps hard like sculptures. His chest was wide and powerful, like it could take throwing knives like a dart board. His lungs were just as strong as his torso, powerful thighs, toned legs, big feet. “Nothing. No sign of anyone. No footprints.”
My eyes started to water again because that wasn’t enough for me.
“It was a dream.”
I shook my head, the tears splashing down my face. “He does this. I don’t know how he does it, but he fucking does it…”
He watched me, his eyes shifting back and forth.