Page 9 of Don’t Let Him In

Or worse. Much worse.

Pain breaks out across my ribs as I reluctantly peel my eyes open, locking onto a pair of deep-set brown eyes, nearly black beneath the shadow of his thick blond hair. Loose strands fall across his forehead in a tousled mess, softening the severity of his features. Too easy, too unguarded for someone who should feel dangerous.

The line between his brows falters, his eyes rounding with concern as he takes me in. My shoulders jerk with silent shock as I hang there, stalled at the edge of the ditch, my feet slightly skidding along the dirt.

He adjusts, then pulls me the rest of the way up, his hand lingering on my arm. “Easy now…you’re shaking.”

His gaze stays on me, unreadable. Never shifting away.

I should feel steadier. Safer, even.

I don’t.

My throat swells. The moment my feet hit solid ground again, I stumble back, arms swinging out on instinct. My thoughts scatter as I scan my surroundings.

The woods go abruptly still, the branches no longer swaying in the breeze. Everything dulls into a thick, muted hush.

A violent shiver tears through me, and I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill. Forcing my gaze back to the stranger, I blink hard to clear the cloudiness from my vision and grind my feet into the ground to keep myself from trembling.

He steps back immediately, hands raised, backing off like I’m the dangerous one. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice rough around the edges, though there’s something unexpectedly boyish beneath it. I’m too on edge to trust the softness in it, my gaze darting over him as he slowly relaxes his stance. “You’re okay. I’m just trying to help.”

My tongue grows thick in my mouth. I try to calm myself, but the tension stays knotted in my shoulders and throat.

His eyes flicker with something that almost looks like disappointment as his hands ease to his sides. Even then, he doesn’t come any closer. “It’s not safe for anyone to be out here this late.”

My body stiffens as I attempt to inch sideways, avoiding the ditch I fell in, both of us locked in a standoff. I can always shout for help if I need to.

Except I’m not even sure if Dax is still here.

Acid scorches my throat. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” I find myself saying suddenly. It’s not a complete lie. “H-he’s somewhere back there waiting. He’ll worry if I don’t get back.”

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep the stutter out of my voice, the sharp taste of copper filling my mouth. His eyebrows quirk.

I’m already turning around, careful not to break into a sprint or look like I’ve been spooked when he calls out to me again. I almost ignore it, pretend it slipped past me when he says, “What about your things? These your car keys?”

I stop in my tracks. Cold sweat breaks out down my spine. Hesitantly, I crane my neck just enough to find him leaning toward my belongings.

He lifts up my keys; the jingle cuts through the abnormally quiet air.

I swallow against what feels like barbed wire in my throat, digging at a hangnail on my finger as I drag myself back toward him, forcing my face blank. I cast a quick glance toward my phone, discarded on the pile of leaves beside him.

Once it’s back in my hands, I’ll feel much more relieved. He doesn’t move to grab it, instead focusing on the keys, the metal clattering between his fingers as he turns them over, his attention finally settling on me.

I stop a couple steps away, close enough that he could reach for me just as easily as I could the keys.

My muscles tense as I lower myself beside him and reach for the keys, still biting the inside of my cheek as if that’ll keep the tremor from lacing my arms and legs.

His gaze lingers too intently on mine, sending another shiver of apprehension down my spine. I’m kicking myself for reacting so obviously in front of him, unable to blink right under any form of male scrutiny.

“Are you lost?” he asks, breaking the silence as he places the keys in my open palm.

The contact lasts barely a second, yet my stomach still coils when I squint up at him, caught in his dark irises for a beat.

Moonlight slips through his pale hair, turning the flaxen strands faintly silver against the dark canopy of trees. Up close, his skin looks luminous, holding my attention a moment too long.

I’m painfully aware of my own appearance, wondering if I overreacted and now look completely insane in front of someone who’s done nothing but help me.

“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, reaching off to the side for my phone.