Walking back to my R1, I mount it and follow her home, staying back far enough to not raise any suspicion, and park far enough away to not be seen. I wait until I can see the lights in the house come on before making my way into the tree line behind the house to check the area.
Surely a girl this perceptive has cameras.
Not that cameras would deter me, but I'd hate to be caught before we even get to properly meet. Sure enough I’m right, surprised by the amount of cameras she has. Eight of those pesky fuckers stare back at me. One on each corner of the house, and one on each outside wall, making sure all areas are covered.
Well that’s interesting.
Pulling out my phone, I make quick work of hacking into her security system. Once I get into the server I put the cameras on a loop, ensuring they will only play what they’re catching right now–which is nothing. My line of work comes with access to a plethora of different programs, allowing me access to whatever I need.
Some women astound me with their trust in the world, they don't even haveonecamera, this girl has eight. She’s better prepared than I originally anticipated, too bad they’re useless now. She’ll never catch me on them.
Once I successfully loop the feed I make my way through her small backyard and onto the deck, thankful that the one thing shedoesn'thave is motion lights.We’ll fix that, but not yet.Making my way onto her back porch, I reach for the doors and try the handle–not at all surprised thatthey’re locked. I smirk to myself as I pull out my tools and easily pick the lock then crack the door open. Hearing her shower running, I make my way inside.
I pride myself on being able to move as silently as I do. I’m not a small guy by any means, I’m six foot six, and broad. But I move stealthily through her bedroom. The space is tidy, her bed is made, a small chair sits off in the corner with a throw blanket draped over the back and a small bookshelf next to it. There’s a night stand on either side of the bed and a long dresser with a TV on the opposite wall. It smells of her perfume, bourbon and vanilla with a hint of something else I can’t quite put my finger on–apple blossom I think. Sophisticated and tempting as hell.
The shower stops and I manage to duck into the walk-in closet, closing the door exactly how she had it, ensuring I don’t make a sound. I can just barely see her through the crack in the door. Thankfully, the house isn't old, the floors don’t creak, and the french doors didn't even make the signaturepopsound when they opened. But I have a feeling she can sense something is off because she takes tentative steps out of the bathroom, her head on a swivel.Somethinghas her spooked. My lips pull into a grin. Grabbing her phone off the nightstand, she swipes a few times, presumably checking her camera feeds. I smile and shake my head.
There’s nothing there pretty girl, don't worry.
She goes in the direction of the dresser where I can't see her, much to my distaste. When she's in my view again she’s in a pair of black and white flannel shorts that showcase her perfectly rounded ass, and a baggy, plain grey t-shirt that quickly soaks up the water from her hair that’s draped over her chest, causing her nipples to harden under the fabric. I suppress a groan at the sight. She’s fucking divine.
As she makes her way through the house, I hear her unlocking and relocking the doors, followed by the windows–twice–before she's back inthe bedroom and shuts off the light. My eyes adjust to the darkness until I notice the softer light that glows from her en-suite bathroom, allowing me to still see her. She climbs into bed, then shifts to her side and pulls the blankets to her chin, then she's still. I wait, and I watch, as she lays unmoving. When I hear the faint sound of her breathing even out, letting me know she’s asleep, I quietly step out of the closet.
Once I make sure the door is in theexactsame position, I make my way over the bed. I take in the sight of her gorgeous face, I meanreallytake her in. Long dark eyelashes fan the tops of her cheeks that are dusted with light freckles. She has a button nose and full, luscious lips that are slightly parted. Reaching out, I brush a strand of her dark hair out of her face, not wanting anything obstructing my view of her. Unable to pull back, I hold my breath and cautiously run my thumb along her bottom lip while humming SYML’s version ofMr. Sandman.Lightly, I trail my fingers along the contours of her body. Down the side of her neck to her collar bone, then slowly over her arm and down her leg to the tips of her toes and back up to her full lips, and brush my thumb along it once more. She doesn’t move.
I want to bite that lip, feel it pulse between my teeth.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away from her face and stand upright at the edge of the bed. Staring down at her, I watch her sleep peacefully for a few minutes before deciding I’ve stayed long enough. My eyes scan her room in search of her purse and when I don’t see it, I take that as my final cue to leave her side.I need to know her name.
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” I whisper and then make my way out of the room.
The rest of her home is as tidy as the bedroom and her scent is everywhere–my new favorite. Making my way through the rest of the house, I note that there are no pictures anywhere on her walls. There are afew landscape portraits and a couple of paintings but not one with her or any family or friends in them.What the hell?
There on the kitchen counter is her purse. Grabbing it, I open it up, take out the wallet and look for her ID.Parker Reigh Ellis.And suddenly, it's the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.
After rummaging through the rest of the contents of the bag, I put everything back, just the way it was and make my way out of the front door, locking it behind me. Remembering she has a deadbolt, I take out my tools that I used to get into the house, and lock it back up for her. She’s too vigilant to think she just made a mistake and forgot to lock it. She did—twice.
I walk back to my bike and toss my leg over the seat before I take her cameras off the loop and place the phone on its mount at my handlebars. Putting my blacked out helmet on, I flip the kill-switch to its on position and press my thumb on the ignition. The machine fires up and I turn my bike around and twist the throttle, leaving in the direction I came from.
It was nice to meet you Parker, I’ll see you soon.
Chapter four
The sun beams throughmy bedroom window and kisses my cheek as I roll over and stretch my arms above me with a groan. Tilting my head to look at the clock on the nightstand, I check the time.Twelve-fifteen. I smile to myself and go to staring at the ceiling. I feel so much more refreshed today, thank God I was able to sleep in.
Getting out of bed, I stroll into the kitchen and turn on the coffee pot, then pull out my favorite mug and the bottle of butter pecan creamer from the refrigerator. Once the cup is made I go over to the couch and turn on the TV. I use it mostly for background noise instead of watching it, which helps me feel not so alone.
Aside from Ashlynn and Hazel, I don't have many friends here. I like it this way. No one to ask questions, no one else I have to lie to about who I am and where I come from.I’ve done enough of that already.The only reason Ash and I are as close as we are is because she all but forced me. She would constantly ask me if I wanted to have coffee or go have lunch or something and I always found excuses not to go. One day she cornered me and said“I’ll wear you down eventually, and then you won't be able to get rid of me.”Which is exactly what happened. When I finally gave into her relentlessness, we went out for coffee at a cozy coffee shop downtown.She yapped my ear off about where she grew up, schools she attended, the weather, her friends, Doc’s, anything she could to try to connect with me and get me to open up. When she landed on the topic of music, she hit the jackpot. We like a lot of the same bands and the conversation took off and we’ve been friends ever since.
She knows nothing about who I really am. My real name, or my fucked up past. Thanks to a carefully curated identity, courtesy of my uncle, that’s just as believable as anyone else's. I was able to tell her the story of the little girl who grew up as an only child to loving and amazing parents, who moved to Florida a while back, after they both retired. I hate that I’m lying to her. She is a sweet person and has a huge heart, but I can’t tell her the truth. I’ll never be able to tell anyone the truth. To be honest, I don't know that I want to. It’s been easier pretending it never existed and that it was all just some bad dream.
Finishing my coffee, I amble back into the kitchen and put my mug in the sink before going back to my room to get ready for the day. It’s my day off and I need to go pick up a few things, then stop to have dinner with Hazel. She has been my rock since being here. I could never thank her enough for everything she did for me the day that I first arrived. She’s an angel, and I make sure to see her as often as I can.
I throw on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a plain black t-shirt, that’s form fitting but not too tight. In the bathroom I brush out my hair and decide to leave it down, my long dark waves resting at the middle of my back. Wanting to let my face breathe for a change, I decide against wearing any makeup–I wear that shit enough at work. Exiting the bathroom, I walk over to the closet to grab my favorite, worn out looking leather jacket and a pair of checkered Vans. In the corner of my bedroom stands a full length mirror, which I step in front of to check myself over. Deciding I’m happy with the look, I leave the bedroom and make my way to the front door.After locking everything up–three times–I step off of the porch and across the gravel driveway, then climb into my SUV.
“How is work going Parker? Is James still treating you girls well?” Hazel asks me as she puts dinner on our plates. Tonight she made chicken marsala with a side of asparagus. If it wasn’t for her cooking, I'd survive solely off of frozen meals and fast food, since I don't see much of a point in cooking for just myself. I always cook too much and end up having to throw away the leftovers before they grow legs and turn into an unwanted house guest.
“He is. Thank you again for setting me up with that job. I couldn’t have asked for a better boss. If he notices I’ve been working too many hours, he insists on cutting me out early so I don’t burn out, and he just gave us all a little bit of a raise.”
