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I didn’t get an answer. Whoever the scratchy-voiced man was, he’d hung up on me.
Blinking at my phone, I huffed out a breath and swung a glare toward Lucas where he lay motionless on the sofa.
“You are so going to get it when you’re not in the middle of dying,” I muttered.
Stomping from the living room, I went looking for…well, something. Anything. I needed to know where I was, who owned this house, and why I had a garage door opener for it in my glove compartment.
After one lap of the floor I was on—there were funky staircases leading both up and down from the living area—I was beginning to think I owned the place.
In the bookcase in the living room were all my favorite books—the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, G.R.R. Martin’s complete works, Stephen King’s earlier books, the Disc World series and a collection of Mills and Boon’s sexy books. Yes, I’d been a romance book junkie since I was sixteen, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
Amongst the DVDs shelved beside the bookcase were all my favorite movies—I am a B-grade sci-fi fan through and through.
What the hell?
In the kitchen, I found a bowl of Granny Smith apples, my preferred variety for healthy munching, and more than one packet of Oreos, my preferred cookie for non-healthy munching.
A frown pulled at my eyebrows. What the hell was going on?
I checked on Lucas—yay, his wounds had stopped bleeding—and then wandered up the stairs and into luxury I couldn’t have begun to imagine.
Three bedrooms, all exquisitely and yet minimally decorated, two with massive beds bigger than I’d ever seen, and the third with a plush sofa I suspected became a foldaway bed. In that room was a desk. On the desk was a sketch pad and some pencils.
Before I could stop myself, I opened the sketchpad.
“Goddamn it,” I breathed, looking down at myself.
Sketches of me. Of my eyes, my face, my smile. Incredibly talented sketches. Whoever the artist was, they were good. Very good.
Lucas. Who else would it be?
The thought unsettled me, even as a strange ribbon of what I could only assume was excitement unfurled through me. It was like I’d stepped into some kind of movie. I had no clue how to respond to it.
Closing the sketchbook, I found myself back in what had to be the master suite.
Above the headboard was an abstract painting that was strangely peaceful to look at. Above the bed, directly above the bed, fixed to the ceiling was a mirror.
I found that strangely disquieting. And arousing. Which was even more disquieting.
“Ronnie?”
I squealed.
Spinning around, I found Lucas in the doorway, leaning against one shoulder, completely naked. He stood still, radiating a poised menace I didn’t think he was currently medically capable of.
He regarded me, expression enigmatic. But his eyes…they were hot. Not with anger though. With lust. “You found my bedroom.”
I swallowed, shuffling my feet. “You shouldn’t be up. How are you up? How are you even alive?”
His lips curled in a smile that sent liquid electricity pouring straight into my pussy. “I’ve got serious stamina, Ronnie.”
A nervous chuckle fell from me before I could stop it. I shuffled my feet again, scrubbing my palms on the fronts of my thighs. Oh man, why was my clit tingling like it was suddenly filling with eager blood.
Err, because it is? Because Lucas is in front of you, naked and gorgeous and dangerous and he clearly wants—
The doorbell chimed.
Murderous rage flashed over Lucas’s face as he swung his head toward the sound. His fists bunched.
