Page 90 of Forced Proximity

My pulse rages in my chest and pounds against my ears. I flip the man over and blink at his face. It takes a moment to place him. My brain scans the last few months as my eyes narrow.

Oh my God … him?

Chapter 41

Lexi

On the ground with the perpetrator in my custody, my brain takes a moment to reconcile the sandy-blond hair, the wide smile, the tall, slender build. ‘What the—you? From the studio.’ My chest lifts and lowers as I catch my breath. ‘You’re … the IT guy … Tim.’

Holy shit. The IT guy? The guy I insta-bonded with in the studio lobby about Ivy? The one I thought was the nicest person I’d met in a while? He’s the stalker?

‘I’m sorry. Tell Justin I’m so sorry.’ He spits on the ground, gasping for air. ‘I only wanted to talk to him.’

Yells echo across the lawn as security guards rush into the yard, their guns and flashlights drawn and pointed. I freeze. Holding my hands in the air, I slowly stand and identify myself.

The community guards take over. I step back, spit out dirt and beeline for the house. Justin. For all I know, IT guy has a partner who’s holding Justin hostage, and until I see him with my own eyes, and confirm he’s okay, I won’t breathe. My chest burns as I sprint back to the house. I need to know he’s safe. My pulse rages. He has to be safe. I throw open the patio door, bolt up the stairs and pound on his bedroom door. ‘Justin! It’s me.’

He whips open the door to his dark bedroom. ‘Holy shit. Are you okay?’

Oh, thank God. No other assailant here, no one holding a gun to him, no broken limbs. He’s safe. I rush at him, hard, nearly knocking him off balance and throw my arms around him. I hug him to confirm he’s alive, hug him for gratitude, hug him like I never want to leave him. He grips me back. I breathe in his clean, soapy scent, and rest my cheek on his chest. His arms cocoon me, holding me, hard, tight, loving.

‘You’re safe, oh my God, you’re safe … I was so worried …’ My heart pounds in my chest, rings in my ears, traps in my throat. Finally, I release him.

He reaches behind me and flips on the light. ‘Jesus Christ!’ His hand reaches toward my face, but he withdraws. ‘Let’s get you into the bathroom. What happened? Are you hurt?’

‘I’m good.’ I wipe my sweaty face with my palm and try to relax my trembling chin. ‘Really, I’m fine. I just need to wash my hands. The guards—’

‘Bathroom.’ His voice is in an absolute no bullshit mode, and he points to the bathroom suite.

Sweat beads drip down my neck. Once inside the bathroom, he rips a towel off the rod and runs it under cold water.

‘It’s fine. I just need—’ I stop at my reflection.

Yikes. The corner of my lip is split. Blood and dirt smear my cheeks. Dirt and red stains slash across my wrinkled T-shirt. The ponytail holder lost its battle and hangs by a thread, debris dangles from my hair. My upper cheek has a deep purple outline forming. When the hell did that happen? The guy didn’t hit me, at least not that I remember. Must’ve been an elbow to the face when I took him down.

‘Come here,’ Justin says, low, quiet, in control.

Oh, that tone can soothe anything. He presses a cool towel to my bleeding lip and I wince. I didn’t feel the impact when it happened, but now that the adrenaline has stopped pumping through my veins, the split skin stings.

His brow furrows as he runs another towel under cold water and holds it against my cheek. With his other hand, he slowly plucks debris from my hair and tosses the residue into the sink. ‘Should we call a doctor?’

The sensation of his fingers on my skin momentarily distracts me from the throbbing. ‘No, I’m fine.’

‘What can I get you?’ He asks as he drops a chunk of leaf into the sink. ‘Aspirin? Heat pack? Tub of ice cream?’

I shift my shoulder to look at my elbow, and flinch. Thankfully, my pre-injured collarbone feels bruised at most. ‘Stop fussing.’ I swat at the air trying to lighten the mood. ‘This is just part of—’

‘The job. Yeah, yeah, I know.’

I put my hand on his forearm. The way he’s looking at me, the concern, the care, it’s almost too much. I need a moment to process. ‘Can you give me a minute so I can use the bathroom?’

‘Oh yeah, of course.’ He closes the door behind him, and I face the mirror.

Jesus Christ. I’m a certified hot mess. I splash cool water on my cheeks and throw some in my mouth. The taste of iron and dirt is heavy on my tongue, and I choke back a gag. I gargle and spit until the red saliva turns pink, then clear. The dangling ponytail holder is useless. I remove it and shake out whatever dirt and leaves remain.

I swipe at the blood and gunk on my arm before giving up. I’m filthy.

I pull out my phone, grateful that my military-grade phone case worked and nothing’s cracked. I type a quick message to update Jack and Marcus. I let them know I’ll call after I confirm the premises are secure.