“Oh, you’re my stalker now? What an interesting turn of events.”
I don’t know why I say it, don’t know why I’m antagonizing instead of demanding he leave, or calling the cops, but for some reason, logic flies out the window when I’m within spitting distance of this man.
It’s got to be lingering groupie brain. The power of stardom that lets celebrities think they can treat normal people however they want, sans any consequences.
Or maybe I like the way my sarcasm makes those silvery eyes rage.
Maybe I agree—I do owe him.
“Was I not clear last night, Riley?”
My stomach cramps, hearing my real name on his lips.
Leaning in, he fits his palm around the gun’s grip over my hand, his finger brushing outside the trigger. The barrel turns, resting at the hollow point of my throat, and I can’t stop the gulp that ensues.
“I’m your reckoning.”
In a flash, he’s shifting, hitting the release with his thumb so the magazine pops out, and then he lets the unloaded gun clatter to the floor.
I swallow, steadying myself by planting my hands on either side of the mirror. My fingers curl around the frame, and he steps in, fitting himself against me.
“Three years,” he says, tilting his head down so his nose is buried in my hair, words reverberating against my skull. “I’ve thought about you all that time. Imagined the look in your eyes when I finally found you; how wide they’d be, swollen with nervousness.”
He squeezes my hip, then moves to the middle of the robe, hooking his thumb in the tie.
“Are you ready to tell me why you did it?” His other hand comes up to the other side of the tie, and he begins to pull the loops apart. My posture stiffens, fear immobilizing me, but as goose bumps trickle over my skin and tighten my nipples, it’s clear fear and arousal are very close friends in my body.
A wave of nausea rolls through me at the thought, and I clench my jaw so hard that it feels like it might break, warding off the onslaught of feeling.
Willing myself to turn it off.
Block it out.
As the robe falls open, baring me once again to his hungry gaze, a numbing sensation spreads through my limbs like liquid Novocain.
His hands fall to my hips once again, pulling the satin material so I’m more exposed, and I draw in a shaky breath as he stares at me in the daytime.
“It really is a shame you turned out to be such a little snake,” he whispers, shifting me back so I’m pressed fully into him.
Where I can feel everything.
While anger rolls off of him in heated waves, the erection digging into my ass makes it clear that’s not his singular motivation.
Throat thick with an emotion I can’t quite place, I glare at him in the mirror. “Why are you here, Aiden? What do you want me to do?”
“Suffer.”
He grunts the word into my hair, his palm skating over my stomach, thumb swiping the underside of my breast. Fingers ghost up, whispering over my nipple, before continuing their ascent and wrapping lightly around my throat.
“I want you to suffer, Riley. However I have to make that happen. I’m not leaving this hellhole until you have.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, unable to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. I pinch them shut, but the complete sheen of terror remains, wringing my bones dry. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Intentions mean shit when lives get destroyed. Keep your apologies, angel. It’s too late for them to be of any use to me.”
Downstairs, the doorbell rings—my single saving grace, if the predatory look in his stony gaze is any indication.
For a second, his fingers flex around my neck, applying just enough pressure to rob me of my breath.
“Jesus Christ. Fear looks fucking delectable on you.”
The doorbell rings again, and his nostrils flare. He releases me with a harsh shove, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest. I take a second to study him in the mirror—noting the coarse stubble lining his chiseled jaw, the way his dark-brown hair curls slightly farther over the tips of his ears—before I turn around, quickly resituating my robe.
“Expecting company?” he asks, leaning against the pine bedpost.
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I consider how much I should tell him about my relationships here. Clearly, the man standing in front of me is off his rocker, and far detached from the one I used to fall asleep listening to as he crooned sad songs in my ears.
Or maybe sanity is just the price of living.
Then again, if he knows enough to be able to sneak into my cabin completely undetected, odds are he knows more about my life than I’m aware of.
“Three years. I’ve thought about you all that time.”
Chills run along my spine, like an ice pick being scraped along the vertebrae.
A wicked smile plays at his lips, and he reaches up, dragging his thumb over the bottom one. My eyes catch on the Medusa tattooed on that hand; she stares back, angry like he is.
I wonder if he wishes he could turn me to stone.
“Go and let him in, pretty girl.”
I wince, and his smile widens, clearly excited by the fact that he continues to catch me off guard.
“How do you know it’s a him?”
“When it comes to you, I know everything. I’ve done my research.” His head cocks to one side, perverse amusement flashing in his gaze. “Now, do you want to tell your friend you’re unable to go to his art show, or should I?”
25
Riley’s nerves make my dick hard.
There, I said it.
Acknowledged the beast, so I might be able to get control of it.
There’s no point in exacting revenge, in making Riley’s life hell, if she stands a chance at getting off on it. And my cock really, really wants her to get off.
Over and over, with her tongue down my throat and my name on her lips.
Scrubbing a hand down the side of my face, I watch as she leaves the bedroom, the silky material of her purple robe swishing against the backs of her thighs. Gripping my knees, I take a second to collect myself and wait to hear the front door open downstairs before I follow quietly.
I see the second she registers that I’ve come downstairs; standing in the open doorway, her knuckles bleach in their hold against the frame and her spine straightens, but she doesn’t make a move to greet me.
Or introduce me to her friend.
“…was hoping you’d come to the earlier viewing, so you could help me decide which pieces to put out.”
The sound of a man’s voice—the one I recognize from the answering machine—has irritation sparking hot just below my skin, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to shove the door all the way back and stake my claim as soon as I reach them.
Instead, I slink behind the door and lean my shoulder against it, letting my weight fall into her. She clenches her jaw, working it from side to side as if my being here annoys her.
“I’m really sorry, Caleb, I just don’t feel like going out.”
Gratification swells like a balloon inside my chest.
“You never feel like going out,” Caleb says, and I despise the way he talks, like he knows her. Intimately. Clearly, I’ve been too occupied with watching her to notice those around her. “But every time you do, you end up having a great time.”