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And if he happened to catch me in his bedroom while I was looking for the key… well, I’d have to use my imagination. I was sure I could distract him enough, if I was willing to use my body to do it.
It took everything in me to eat the sandwich I’d made. Truthfully, I wasn’t very hungry. This whole thing had made me lose what little appetite I normally had. After that, I changed into black leggings and a black shirt, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and waited near my door, listening.
It was about seven when Gareth went to shower. I crept in the hall and tiptoed down to his bathroom, and I heard the water turn on. I waited another moment before turning around and hurrying to his bedroom.
If I was Gareth, hiding a key, where would I put it?
I checked his nightstand first, then under his pillow and between his mattress and box spring. Nothing in those places. My feet took me to his desk on the far wall, which didn’t look like it saw any use; all the drawers in it had no keys to be found.
Holding in a frustrated sigh, I went to his dresser and pulled open each drawer. Again, nothing.
I walked to the closet, opening it and dropping to my knees, searching through the boxes lining the floor. They had various dress shoes in them, some of them looking quite new, like they’d never been worn. I was slow to stand back up and eye the clothes hanging inside, spotting a few suit jackets and wondering if the key could be in one of the pockets.
My hand was in one pocket, checking the first suit jacket, when my ears heard the bathroom door open. Shit. That was the quickest shower ever. What the hell?
Leaving his room without being seen would be impossible, so I dropped to my knees, ducked under the hanging clothes, and pulled the closet door shut as quickly and quietly as I heard. It was a sliding door, and from the inside, I could see a bit of his room through a crack between the panels.
Gareth strolled into the room, his brown hair wet and hanging in his face over his glasses. Something in me twisted; even if he was a psychopath and a possible murderer, he really was attractive.
Fuck. I hated that. Couldn’t he have been ugly? It would make hating him so much easier.
But no, he had to be hot. Hot and rich, a devastating combination when you were talking about a criminal who deserved no less than a life sentence. Someone like him was never convicted, ever.
He also didn’t have a shirt on. He wore only sweatpants as he strolled in, and I hated the fact that I leaned closer to the crack in the door to get a better look.
Gareth wasn’t super ripped, but he was lean. He had the faintest outline of abs on his stomach. He was definitely more fit than a lot of other artists were, me included. I could see the outline of his dick, too. Never understood why some girls went crazy over gray sweatpants on guys… not until right then, anyway.
He went to his dresser and pulled out a shirt, slipping it on and turning to leave the room.
Where was he going? Whatever. I wouldn’t question it, because I had to get out of this closet and get back to my room where I could pretend I wasn’t doing anything suspicious. My fingers pulled open the door, and I got to my feet as I crawled out. With the door closed, I rushed out of his room and hurried down the hall to mine, turning into it to find Gareth sitting on my freshly-made bed, giving me a smirk.
My heart skipped a beat. Goddamn it. He was always a step ahead of me. How?
“Find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“What?” I could’ve smacked myself with how obvious I sounded. I was frozen in place, rooted just inside the room. I should’ve turned around and walked out, but I couldn’t move. Gareth’s icy gaze had me bolted to the floor.
He got up off my bed, his head cocked as he approached me. It took everything in me to not let my gaze fall to his gray sweats and the swinging dick underneath. Just because I might’ve enjoyed that dick—a little—didn’t mean I’d become addicted to it. I wouldn’t stoop that low.
I wouldn’t.
“You were in my room.” When I stared at him with feigned innocence, he chuckled. “Come on, Brianna. Don’t lie to me. One of the drawers on my dresser wasn’t closed all the way. I assume you were either in my closet or hiding beneath my bed. Which was it?” He stopped when he reached me, standing less than a foot in front of me.
“The closet,” I whispered.
Beneath his glasses, his green eyes were cold. “What were you looking for?”
I swallowed. “The key to the pool house.”
That got him to laugh. “You wanted to sneak in there again? Why? Didn’t see enough the first time?” One of his hands lifted up, fingertips running up my arm lightly enough to give me goosebumps.
“Emily,” I whispered out her name. “I saw the bloody paper towels in the trash, Gareth. I know something happened. I need to know if she’s okay or if—” I stopped myself. The last time I’d asked him whether he’d killed her, he’d pinned me to my own bed and made me a slave to the dick swinging between his legs. Needless to say, I didn’t want that to happen again.
“The cook again?” Gareth rolled his eyes.
I wanted to ask,Again? It was only yesterday that she went MIA, you prick. But I kept that to myself. “I need to know she’s okay.”
The fingers dancing up my arm dropped to my side, and he gripped my hip and jerked me closer to him, slamming my chest against his as he demanded to know, “Why? Why do you give such a big shit about the cook? You don’t owe her anything.”
