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Instead, I sort of want to get in the shower with him. June Ryan, who even are you? It’s a question I don’t know how to answer anymore, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Maybe this is who I was all along. I just didn’t know it yet.

All I know is, I was threatened, and somebody eliminated the threat. Who wouldn’t find that hot as hell?

I’m waiting for him when he gets out of the shower, sitting on the bed, hungry for more details. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he grunts before I have the chance to say a word, hardly looking at me. My heart sinks, but it’s not because he shut me down. It’s his whole attitude, the nervous energy I sensed in him all day. It’s still there. Does that mean something went wrong? Or maybe this is how he always acts after killing somebody. I mean, how would I know?

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Even if I have a zillion questions, and not all of them are about exactly what steps he took to end Victor’s wicked life for good. He hasn’t talked about what this means for us yet. Maybe he needs, like, time to process before he can think about that.

And something tells me until he processes, he’s going to be super grumpy. How do I know? Let’s start with the way he slams the dresser drawer shut after pulling out a pair of underwear. Everything about his body language screams tension. This does not bode well for the rest of the night.

“You haven’t decided I’m a complication you want out of the way, have you?” I ask, because of course I have no filter even when it matters most.

He heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey, I don’t know how a killer’s mind works. No offense,” I quickly add. “For all I know, you’re like, ‘Hey, I kind of enjoyed committing murder tonight. Maybe I should do it again, shut this girl up for good while I’m at it.’”

“Believe me, June. If I was going to get rid of you to make my life easier, I could’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Does it surprise you to hear that that does not make me feel any better?”

The way he growls doesn’t make me feel better either. I don’t like this side of him, like he could snap at any second. “Did something go wrong?” I ask.

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t make me have to say it again,” he snarls. I would swear the temperature in the room has dropped ten degrees when he hits me with an icy stare. “Let it go.”

Right. Like I’ll be able to do that. There has to be a way to get through to him, right? I can’t stand this much longer. So I try a different tack. “You know, I was thinking while you were gone about another scene I hope we can re-create together.”

He turns slowly, giving me a look that makes it feel even colder in here. “You really think this is the time to talk about that?”

“Why not? You don’t want to talk about what happened tonight? Fine. Let’s talk about something else.” Please, God, don’t let me be taking my life in my hands right now. It’s like I’m onstage, under a harsh spotlight, expected to dance when I’ve never had any lessons. That’s how he’s looking at me now, studying me, like he’s waiting to see where this goes. Unfortunately, I have no idea where it’s going because I am completely ad-libbing.

“All right. It’s better than being asked questions I don’t feel like answering right now.” Arching an eyebrow, he inclines his head a little, then sits on the foot of the bed. “Go ahead. What’s the scene?”

“Well, have you ever heard of breath play?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind in the long list of options I’ve gone over throughout the day.

“I’ve heard of it. Choking?” he prompts.

“Yeah, that’s one way to do it.” Though, let’s be honest, I don’t know how comfortable I feel with the idea of him choking me so soon after he killed somebody else. Even if it was a bad guy. “Some people use pillows. Some people use those masks that cover a person’s face, or you can gag somebody with panties, that kind of thing.”

“A balled-up pair of panties?” He shrugs, nodding slowly. “That doesn’t sound bad.”

“I did a lot of research on it for my book. The lack of oxygen to the brain is supposed to add something to the experience.”

“I’ve heard that’s the point.” At least he sounds interested now, even if he’s still tense and short with me.

“So in my book, the guy holds the girl’s face down in a pillow while he . . .” All of a sudden I’m too shy to speak. I might be able to write about it, but talking about it is a little different.

And, of course, he picks up on that. “While he what? Too shy now? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“He plays with her from behind and makes her come before he fucks her,” I blurt out. “While he’s doing it, he controls whether or not she can breathe.”

“I do like being in control,” he muses. He’s starting to get into it now, even throwing up a small tent in his boxer briefs. It’s still a small one-person tent right now, nothing compared to the party-size tent he would sport if he were fully erect. The fierce look in his eyes shifts too. Less like I want to kill somebody and more I want to fuck somebody. That, I can work with, especially when I remember what he did for me—for us—tonight. He went out there and slayed the dragon for me.

In fact, the thought of it makes my heart beat a little faster.

“You know something?” He is definitely sporting a hard-on when he stands, staring down at me with the same possessive look he wore yesterday, before he blindfolded me. “Most women would be terrified of a man they knew committed murder an hour ago.”

“I guess they would be,” I agree with a nervous giggle.

“But not you. If anything . . .” There’s something wicked in his grin. “I think you’re getting off on it.”