Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
I’d fucked him.
This was my deal.
I made that choice.
“Go shower, London.” He leaned up against the counter, his jeans zipped but the top button undone. His shirt was rumpled, but he still looked like he could walk out the door and attend an opera.
I reached for the dish cloth hanging over the tap to clean up the orange juice, but his hand latched onto my wrist. “Do what I tell you.”
My spine stiffened and I was about to tell him to go fuck himself when he gently eased the dish cloth from my hand. “Are you going to be here… after?”
His eyes locked on mine and they were cold, unlike anything I’d seen in him before. Shivers raced through me and my stomach dropped. The fear that had been extinguished by the lust came alive again.
Those piercing green eyes were the ones his victims witnessed before he… killed? Tortured? I didn’t know. Maybe both. Probably both.
Jesus, I’d had sex with a killer.
His brows rose as if he knew exactly what was racing through my mind.
I was going to be sick. I spun around, ran into the washroom and slammed the door.
HE WAS GONE by the time I came out of the shower. The orange juice had been cleaned up and my washing machine was running. I walked over to the laundry closet and opened the doors. My green sheets from my bed were covered in suds, swishing back and forth in the circular window.
Why would he wash my sheets? I glanced over my shoulder at my bed and saw the spare white sheets now perfectly fitted onto the mattress. He had even neatly folded down the duvet on the side of the bed I always slept on.
I could somewhat understand why he’d put the sheets in the wash if we’d had sex on the bed, but we didn’t. He’d obviously gone through my stuff to find the extra ones, then took his time fluffing up the pillows and tucking in the sheets.
I noticed the noise from the city streets was gone and realized he’d closed my bedroom window. I always slept with it open. I had since the fire.
I remembered the panic of yanking up on the window that night and it wouldn’t budge. I struggled and struggled until I collapsed on my knees as the lack of oxygen became suffocating. With the hallway engulfed in flames there’d been no other way out. I’d crawled across the floor to my desk chair thinking I could use it to smash through the glass.
I never made it.
I should’ve died.
Ever since that night, I’ve slept with the window open. I’d never be trapped again.
I walked over to the window to open it and a small piece of paper, which had been wedged between the window and the sill, fluttered to the floor. I bent and picked it up.
My breath stopped as I stared at the neat handwriting. Kai.
I peered out the window then turned and searched the shadows of the loft for any sign of him. But I felt the emptiness. Kai’s presence filled a room and that feeling was gone, just like him.
Relief and disappointment rolled into a tight little package in my head. Logically, I was glad one night was done, yet the illogical side, which was my body, hung on to disappointment that one night was done.
I crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash, then walked to my bed, placed a knee on my mattress about to crawl into bed then hesitated. My gaze dropped to the crisp white sheets. Sheets he’d run his hands over while smoothing out the creases. Sheets his strong hands had gently tugged on before he tucked the excess material under the mattress. Sheets his palms caressed like he’d caressed my body.
Damn it.
I backed away from the bed, grabbed a throw blanket from the chair in the corner, walked to the couch in the living room, and flicked on the TV. I curled up into a ball and watched an old black and white movie until I finally fell asleep.
I woke with a cramped neck and the enticing smell of coffee.
Coffee?
I threw off the blanket and jerked upright. My nose guided my eyes to the brown paper bag and steaming coffee cup, which sat on the granite island right where I had lain hours ago while Kai thrust inside me.
I stood and walked over to the counter. No note. But I knew it was from him, although how he broke into my loft twice now was concerning. I’d have to speak with security.
I opened the bag and the scent of a freshly baked cinnamon croissant wafted into the air. It was my favorite from the bakery a block away.
How did he know it was my favorite? How did he know that was where I went every morning before classes and picked up my coffee and croissant? But it started to make sense. Kai did know me because he’d been watching me.