Page 34 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“Thank you,” Storm said. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

There was a question in Storm’s heated stare. She thought of last night, the way he’d looked at her like she could fix it all. And then she recalled her dream and the faceless man grinding into her, kissing her, and she shuddered, hand wrinkling the itinerary in her palms.

“Didanyonesleep last night?” Laszlo muttered, turning to go. “I’ll see you two downstairs in the kitchen by nine!”

Pen watched her friend go, a small smile curling her lips. She’d follow Lazlo’s schedule, sure, but Pen had forgotten howstricthe was. Though if there was a time in her life when she needed it most, it was now.

“Is he for real?” Storm asked, holding up an identical itinerary. She squirmed as he glanced up from the itinerary to survey her. His eyes dipped down to her chest, and he blushed. She followed his gaze and quickly wrapped her arms around herself.Damn it, she should have put on a bra. She could poke an eye out with one of her nipples.

“I’m going to shower…” she said, trailing off as she took a step backward into her room.

He frowned. “Um, enjoy?”

Without meaning to, Pen recalled the remnants of her dream, a hand clawing her thighs hungrily, and heat gathered once more between her legs as he stared blankly at her. She slammed her door shut and leaned her forehead against it.Um, enjoy?Who told you to enjoy a shower? And what the hell waswrongwith her? A week was too long in this damned castle. If she was this irrational after a single night, how would she be after a week?

She undressed, peeling away her sticky underwear before stepping into the shower. She relished the hot water beading over her neck and shoulders. Her whole body was stiff, her muscles tight and exhausted. She hadn’t slept much, and though she would never admit it to his face, Pen had spent four hours of her night reading through most of Storm’s manuscript.

It was good. Fuck, it was more than good.

It deserved to be published.

Screw whoever had told him otherwise.For What Savages May Behad been pulled from the bones of whatever its parent had been. And Pen finally understood why he was the way he was, why he’d struggled to say no, to step out of his little safety box.

She almost pitied him.

Though Pen had finally fallen asleep, she had drifted in and out of wakefulness, remembering the glowing eyes down in the cellar. And the way Storm had looked at her when she opened the document on the flash drive.

How she managed to fit a sex dream into the mix was anyone’s guess.

On shaky legs, Pen straightened and lathered her hair with shampoo. Head thrown back as she rinsed, she heard the loudsqueal of a door opening and felt a gush of cold air through the bathroom.

Pen paused, shuddering as she peeled open one eye. “Hello?”

Nothing.

Nerves buzzing, she rinsed out the last of the shampoo before shutting off the water. She peered around the shower curtain; her room was empty. “Hello?” she called again as she climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself.

The cold draft hit her, and she shivered, water dripping from her hair and down her front, soaking her towel. She stopped before the fireplace, the tapestry to its left sticking out strangely. Lifting it, she found the secret door ajar. She tugged it closed, turning the lock once again and pushing against it. The door held.

“Weird.”

But weird didn’t even begin to describe it.

Jumping at every creak of the floorboard, at every miniscule sound, Pen dried her hair, braiding it before slipping on jeans and another sweater. She grabbed her laptop and hurried out of her room.

She wanted to spend as little time alone in this castle as humanly possible.

“You’re late!” Laszlo called as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Daniela was nursing a steaming mug of coffee, and dark purple bags were stark beneath her eyes. She muttered something under her breath as Pen walked past her chair.

Storm stood at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee, then sipping it with a sigh. He cradled it in his large hands, eyes closed. So, Neil Storm liked his coffee black. It didn’t surprise Pen in the least. He seemed like the kind of man to prefer the bitter stuff as a necessity to begin his mornings. He wasn’t the kind of person torelishthings.

Because tea was soft and calming. Tea was familiar, warm,and knowing. She knew what tea tasted like, and coffee was always unreliable.

Like Storm.

She watched him quietly as he took another long drink of the black liquid. He did not savor the taste and made no expression to indicate if the coffee offered him any sense of pleasure.