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“Of course. They involved a vibrator, red wine, and a masked man.”
She gasps. “Go on!”
Maybe I should tell her about what happened between me and Saint last night. More accurately, what Saint did to me last night. But my cheeks burn with shame, and I can’t bring myself to admit the truth out loud—that Saint bound me to my bed and I let him make me his. Worshipped his wicked tongue.
He would’ve stopped if I’d truly commanded it. But beneath my biting words, he knew what I wanted. How I craved the sweet release that only his touch could provide.
My phone pings with a text. My heart leaps into my throat, thumbs flying across the screen in anticipation of a message from Saint.
But it’s a text from Trevor asking for my address, letting me know he has new evidence to show me.
I hang up with Mack, despite her protestations that I regale her with tales of my salacious dreams. I attempt to speed-clean my house before Trevor rings the doorbell.
I swing the door open, trying not to sound out of breath. “Trevor! Hey.”
“Hey.” He’s wearing a small smile in place of his usual goofy grin. “You’re definitely gonna want to see this.” As soon as I cross over the threshold and close the door behind me, he pulls out his phone. “I’ve got some new info on your stalker.”
“So do I!” I can’t help the pride in my voice at the success of my amateur sleuthing skills. “Remember that author I was telling you about? S.T. Nicholson? He and Saint are the same person.”
“Really? The guy who wrote that book with the weird title you kept talking about?This Book Will Kill Meor something?”
“This Book Will Haunt You, and it’s not a weird title, and yes, that guy.”
“An author is stalking you? How the hell does that happen?”
“Apparently, this stupid review got in his head and he couldn’t write anymore. Then I inspired him somehow, and he’s been writing ever since. I’m hismuse.” I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress the flush of pride. S.T. Nicholson credits me with his ability to write again. Oh my god. What if he mentions me in his acknowledgements?
Trevor laughs. “Wow, he’s definitely deranged. We’ve gotta get this guy locked up.” He shows me his phone screen. “This is what I wanted to show you. It’s a video from your neighbor's camera.”
In the video, my ancient Honda-that-could whines past as I push the engine too hard, speeding to work ten minutes late. A few seconds later, a sleek, silver sedan follows.
“He has a lease with the same make and model,” Trevor informs me.
I check the date on the footage. Right around the time I discovered Saint lurking outside my house. “This isn’t enough,” I tell Trevor. “You can’t see who the driver is.”
“Sure, it’s not enough to convict the guy, but it’s something. When it comes to cases like these, it’s about how all of the little pieces come together. You should still take everything you have to the police, no matter how insignificant it may seem—it all adds up. You need to let them know everything to keep yourself safe.”
“I’m not in danger.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
Trevor’s head tilts, brows pulled together in confusion. “What do you mean you’re not in danger? You have a stalker, Briar.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, I’m well aware. But he’s not going to hurt me.”
Trevor takes a moment to process my words as he tries to reign in his astonishment. “And how exactly do you know that?”
Because he told me as he was declaring his undying love for me.
“He’s had plenty of opportunities to do so. If he wanted to hurt me, he would’ve done it by now.”
Trevor’s mouth falls open, too shocked for a second to formulate a response. “Briar...you’re not serious, right? Just because he hasn’t hurt you yet doesn’t mean he won’t. He’s a stranger. You can’t trust him.”
“He’s not exactly a stranger,” I admit, dropping my gaze.
Trevor shifts, leaning on one hip and folding his arms. “What’s that mean?”
I’m sure as hell not telling Trevor about my orgasmic night with Saint de Haas. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Mack, and I tell her everything. “I told you, he’s a student. We’ve gotten to know each other better. So he’s not a stranger.”
Trevor stares at me wordlessly for so long, I’m torn between blabbering like an idiot and running back inside to hide. “Please tell me you’re not falling in love with the guy because he’s an author.”
