Page 10 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

I don’t, however, move. That would be giving in, and that’ssomething I never do. At least not unless there’s an advantage to me.

“Mutual desire,” he says, his voice pitched low. Sensual.

“Excuse me?” My head is spinning, and I’ve forgotten what wewere talking about.

“You said we shared a mutual desire.” He moves even closer.“A desire to keep you alive. And we do. So you listen to me, Francesca. You dowhat I say. You obey my instructions. You answer my questions so we can findwhoever is sending you those letters. You do that for me, and we’ll both getwhat we want.”

And then, while I’m standing in my entryway blinking like afool, my mouth completely dry, he turns and walks into the great room, hiswords flowing back to me. “We’re leavingin ten. If you want to change, now’s the time to do it.”

“Leaving?” For a moment, I simply gape, then I hurry afterhim, my heels clicking on the tile. “There’s an entire team outside upgradingmy home into a fortress, and we’re just going to leave?”

“One, the job is to keep you safe, not hold you prisoner.”He tilts his head as if studying me. “I believe you made that point yourselfnot half an hour ago with the con. You pretty much threatened a mutiny ifanyone tries to hold you back.”

I grimace because he’s right.

Even so, I aim my most domineering glare at him now. “I havea specific reason for going to the con. As far as I know, your outing isnothing more than a jaunt for you to go grab a donut.”

“I need to run by my place.”

“Excuse me?”

He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leanscasually against my wall. “I need my things.”

I blink as I realize the bigger ramifications of his words.“Wait. You’re staying here?”

One brow rises, giving him a decidedly rakish appearance.“You expected me to stick close and protect you from the nearest Motel 6?”

The truth is, I hadn’t thought about it at all except insome vague way. Like taking my morning walk on the beach with him behind me ina leather coat and dark glasses, fresh out of Central Casting.

Or better, maybe I’ll be out to dinner, and he’ll bestanding casually behind me in a suit. I can get on board with that. Because nomatter what else he might be, Simon Barré is the kind of man every designerimagines. A guy who projects a rugged elegance. The kind of man who could makeany outfit look good.

I clear my throat, realizing that my thoughts have gonedangerously and uncomfortably astray. “So go. I can stay here. The property iscrawling with agents right now. They’re still doing all that outside stuff,right?”

“No,” he says.

“They’re not?”

“You’re not staying.” His eyes are on mine, and I expect himto elaborate. He doesn’t; instead, he simply holds my gaze. Not a challenge somuch as an exploration.

I match him, but it’s not easy, which surprises me. I’m thewoman who stares down anyone who dares to gawk at me. I genuinely love my fans,but I don’t love feeling like a bug under glass. Still, I know it’s an inherentpart of celebrity—that sense of being on display, that other people feelentitled to look you up and down as if they’re judging the size of your ass andthe knobbiness of your knees. Sometimes, it’s just a fan, basking in being thatclose to someone they’ve let into their homes so often the actortruly feels like an old friend.

But most of the time, the glances feel assessing—as ifthey’re determined to find a flaw. As if the fact that I might have a blemishmakes them a better person. Or it feels pervy, like all I’ve been doing mywhole career is providing a mental picture for some dude to jack off to.

That’s not how it feels with Simon.

His gaze feels appraising, yes, but also warm. Like he’sseeing me for the first time. Not the me on screen but the real me I hidebehind my eyes. And for a moment—one sweet, wonderful moment—I want to open tohim. To share all my secrets and fears.

But that’s me living one of the fantasies I play out on thescreen. The kind where the hard and broken girl finally opens herself to theguy and finds true love.

That’s not real life, though. That’s just the movies.

I know that better than anyone.

This isn’t the third act. He’s not the hero. And the onlyreason he’s looking at me with such intensity is because I’m a client and he’staking my measure.

I break first. “Just go. I’ll be here when you get back,trapped in my house.”

“You’re coming with me.”