Page 53 of If I Stopped Haunting You

“I didn’t understand it until you and I talked,” he said, his fingers trailing from her hand up to her arm, “until we were honest with each other, but I’m starting to wonder if there was always something else here, waiting.”

“Storm,” she said breathlessly, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Yes, Skinner?” he asked, lips brushing against her cheek. His thumb swept across her waist, and damn it, she was ready to give in, to turn in his arms.

But last night she’d hated him still. No, she’dloathedhim. Penelope Skinner had loathed Neil Storm, so why did she want to turn and kiss him? She wanted him to wrap his hands around her waist like he had the day before and press her into the door. She wanted to reach down and feel his length against her, wrap her legs around him and drag him close and pull himin. She wanted to run her hands through his wild hair, wanted him to undo her braid and tug her sweater over her head, and just—

The latch to the door popped open, and Pen breathed out. Face flushed, she ducked her head and slipped out from the circle of his arms before reaching for her laptop. Her hands shook as she closed the lid and wrapped her fingers around it. Ignoring the look of hurt on his face, she hurried toward the door.

“Penelope!” he called as she thrust open the door and he stumbled back.

Pen took the stairs two at a time. She didn’t trust herself right now. She’d wanted to kiss him.

Neil Storm.

Penelope Skinner had wanted to kiss Neil Storm.

She screamed as she flung the door to the passageway shut and locked it, tossing her laptop to her bed. How?How?She came here to take control of her career, to fuckingwrite,not to, well,fuckaround.

“Penelope, please?”

Why was he using her first name? He wasn’t allowed to sayher name like that. He wasn’t allowed to make her feel things for him.

Storm knocked on the door, and she swung toward it, heart in her throat. Waiting.

“Please, we need to talk.” His voice was thick with emotion, low and sultry, and goddamn it, just the sound of his voice was making her horny.

“No, wereallydon’t.”

“Penelope.”

Damn it, since when did he call her by her first name?

Hands planted on her hips, Pen paced. This wasn’t possible. There was no alternate reality where she wanted Neil Storm to kiss her. Sighing, she turned and slammed her hands against the tapestry. She could imagine him on the other side, cramped in the narrow stairwell, hands on either side of the door as he leaned close and waited for her to give him a chance.

So close, they were so close. The only thing that separated them were these two inches of wood.

Pen shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

Between him and the strange things she’d seen and heard, Penelope Skinner had outstayed her welcome in this castle.

Pressing her lips into a flat line, she crossed the room and shoved her things into her bag. She didn’t belong here with these people. She never had. And Storm trying to kiss her, the closure she felt when they’d both apologized for their fault in that dreadful panel, was enough to convince her that she was done writing.

Which was fine. She’d go home, move in with her mom and Apawllo as the disappointment she was always meant to be. She would continue her editing work, making other people’s stories beautiful and polished while she abandoned her own. She’d live a semi-comfortable life and stay in the shadows, away from whatever new mess she and Storm had nearly started.

“Penelope, please!”

She jumped in surprise, her array of plain, albeit practical black underwear flying in the air.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she spat, picking them up one by one and shoving them into the bag.

“Penelope,please.”

She spun toward the tapestry and the door that was hidden behind it, guilt churning in her gut. But Pen was done. She was so done letting her emotions rule her.

Pen grabbed her backpack and bag and ran from her room.

She was good at hiding; she always had been. She’d wiped all her social media accounts and avoided the world since she’d ruined her career. Whether or not it was for a good reason, she could have approached it a million different ways.