He snickers. “You piss off someone in your harem?”
“No harem. Just one loaded pistol.”
I hang up, grinning to myself.
Things between Goldie and me just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
Chapter Three
Did you know your left boot scuffs the ground when exhaustion drapes over you? But only after you’ve killed someone. Or let the thought fester until you almost wish you had.
Your laughter grows louder when you lie.
You flirt with more hunger when loneliness creeps in.
And your fingers find your throat when forbidden wants flicker through your mind.
Is it me?
Am I the one you’re thinking of in those moments?
Why do you chase women who leave you numb? You vanish before they can reach the tender places you swear aren’t there. But I see you unravel, piece by piece, in ways invisible to everyone else.
I do.
I notice.
Because you’re mine.
You belong to me in all the silent ways that haunt you. In the hush between breaths. In the moments before sleep, when your face betrays how much you ache for me beside you.
I won’t hurt you.
I’ll simply linger, studying you, waiting, loving you the way monsters do once they’ve chosen their prey.
Sleep tight, my beautiful monster.
I’m closer than you think.
Another day, another love note from the shadow that clings to me.
My jaw locks as I lower the page, breath snagging in my chest until I force it free. The hunter is now the hunted. But it isn’t fear that roots me. It’s the sensation of being pinned by something invisible.
It’s thrilling in a way that shouldn’t be erotic, but it is.
This note is more intimate than the rest. Obsession seeps from every line, raw and unrepentant. My thumb drifts over the paper, catching on a ghost of a scent I almost recognize each time I unfold it. My mind refuses to name it, too crowded by the words pressing in from all sides.
The note tangles my thoughts, twisting them into knots.
A tight pull coils low in my gut, heat blooming where it shouldn’t. Then guilt slices in, Marigold’s name flaring through me like a warning siren, as if wanting this is its own kind of betrayal.
Ridiculous, considering there’s nothing more between us than friendship.
Friends.
The word is flavorless on my tongue. It barely hints at what we are, or what I crave us to become. If I had my way, she’d already be beneath me, my name etched into her skin before doubt could catch up.
I’m emotionally avoidant by design.
